


The Blackout Diner

by Technicolor_lover



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Diners, Background Poly, Comedy, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-03-04 19:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 41,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13371840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Technicolor_lover/pseuds/Technicolor_lover
Summary: Brad Delson is desperate for a job, and his brand new law degree isn't cutting it. Swallowing his pride, he gets a job at the local greasy spoon, The Blackout Diner. Now if only get can get through a shift without wanting to kill someone. (Or: the diner AU)





	1. First Shift

Brad Delson has never known desperation before. Born as an only child in an upper middle class white Jewish family, he never went hungry, never had to worry about money, never had a worry in the world. His parents have a picture perfect marriage and he knows that he's loved. While his dating life isn't going as well as it could be (I.e. going steady with his right hand for over 2 years now) his life has been happy and carefree.

That is until now.

He's fresh out of law school (complete with a shiny new law degree) swimming in student loans and has had no luck getting a job. He's had shit luck with every law firm in town, it's like these motherfuckers can _smell_ his desperation. The bills are piling up, rent is late, and his car has already been repossessed.

Desperation tastes like a week of rice and beans and he's getting pretty fucking sick of it.

So he hangs up his pride and starts setting his sights on something a little more lowbrow. Which is how he ends up at _The Blackout Diner_. It's an old greasy spoon type restaurant, sort of a local landmark. Opened for sixty-three years with no sign of stopping, it's the type of twenty-four hour restaurant that you go to when you're either: A) Drunk of your ass B) Hungover as _fuck_ or C) Questioning your life choices.

But it's a ten minute walk from his apartment and there's a “Help Wanted” sign on the door so he’ll take his chances.

He asks to talk to someone at the job and the waitress (whose name tag says Sam) yells out “RICK! SOME POOR BASTARD WANTS TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT THE JOB!”

It's his first clue that he's made a mistake.

Rick Rubin turns out be an older man with a gray beard that rivals his own ‘fro. Honestly, it looks like the thing is trying to eat his face. They go to his office, which is cramped and looks like it's a repurposed broom closet, and the interview begins.

“Name?”

“Brad Delson.” (True.)

“Age?”

“Twenty-five.” (True as well.)

“Any prior experience with serving?”

“None.” (True, he has no prior experience with any job, not even babysitting.)

“You have a flexible schedule and okay with working holidays?”

“Yes.” (True, in the sense that his schedule is wide the fuck open, and as much as he loves his parents, if he had to spend one more holiday season with them, he’d eat the family menorah.)

“D’ya like people?”

“Yes.” (False, he hates them.)

“You ok with working overnight shift?”

“Yes, I'm a bit of a night owl.” (False, he's more of a morning person.)

“How soon can you start?”

“Soon as you want me to.” (True, he needs two grand by the end of the month or he's out on the streets.)

“You have any problems either cutting your hair or tying it back?”

“Absolutely not.” (Partially true, he's fine figuring out how to pull back the bush that's on his head, or even putting a bandana/hair band over it, but he WON’T cut it off.)

Rick sighs and leans back in his chair, hands folded on his chest. “Well I probably should wait for someone more qualified, but we need another guy on the overnight shift tonight, the other guy got busted in a crackhouse this morning. Can you start tonight at ten?” (There's clue number two.)

And just like that he finds himself outside _The Blackout Diner_ at nine fifty-five that night with his hair pulled back in a weird ponytail that resembles a giant pompom. A young man with a million watt smile greets him and introduces himself as Mike. He’s the overnight manager and his new supervisor. He hands him an apron, a pad, and a half dozen pens before showing him around.

Rob is the dishwasher, a tall younger college kid who does his homework in between dish loads. Joe and Dave work the line in the small kitchen in the back. Joe is a slightly heavy Korean man around his age who looks like he's trying to be a samurai with his facial hair and haircut. Dave is also around his age and has a bright red goatee. His hair would probably match, but he’s either shaved it all off, or is completely bald before he’s hit twenty-five.

Fifteen minutes after ten, the entrance door is kicked open by a skinny punk covered head to toes in tattoos, his hair is bleached blonde and spiked. Before Mike can even say anything, the newcomer puts on his apron and says, “I know I'm late Shinoda, you try getting anywhere on time while bustin’ your ass working three jobs.”

Mike introduces the man as Chester and instructs Brad to shadow Chester for the night and learn the ropes before going solo the following night. As soon as Mike walks off, Chester looks him dead in the eye and says as he shakes Brad's hand,

“Welcome to hell.”

And there's clue number three.

Brad follows Chester around the rest of the night, learning the job. Despite being the dead of night, the diner can get surprisingly busy. He's had to escort three and a half drunks out to their Uber’s, stop one potential fist fight, and he’s pretty sure he caught a hooker giving a handjob to her client while he was dropping off their order (steak ‘n eggs, med-well over easy for him and a simple salad, dry, eevo and balsamic on the side for her).

Chester is a sarcastic asshole who, as much as Brad hates to admit it, makes this all seem easy. The sonovabitch can carry a full tray of food plus an additional four plates in the other hand while dodging customers with the grace of a goddamn swan. It makes him irrationally angry at how good Chester is at this. The man doesn't even need to write down the orders, no matter how complex the orders are. (“One cheeseburger, eos, medium, cut in four, half cheese fries, half reggae fries. One caesar salad, garlic allergy, no romaine, sub kale, add tomatoes and red onion. One spaghetti and meatballs, sub macaroni pasta, dairy allergy, add shrimp, lemon on the side. Two loaded baked potatoes all day, one reggae, the other dairy allergy, extra bacon, extra crispy skin.)

(He actually hears Joe and Dave shout, “What the fuck is this bullshit how the fuck do we give’em a caesar salad with no garlic that's like a key ingredient and this motherfucker can't cut his own burger?” when that particular order reaches them.)

Granted, Chester's got the charm of a rock, but the customers seem to enjoy it. Chester chalks it up to “If they wanted to be treated nicely then they'd go to the steakhouse down the street and pay fifteen bucks for a baked potato.”

(“Can I get that mac ‘n cheese gluten-free?” “Lady, that shit is full of gluten, try again.” “Oh, well what about the disco fries?” “There ya go.”)

Chester teaches him some of the lingo. It's like learning another language. Reggae is short for regular, say ‘behind’ when going behind someone, ‘corner’ when rounding a corner, sos for ‘sauce on side’, eos for ‘everything on side’, if you need it now you say ‘on the fly’, if something is out then it’s ‘86ed’, say ‘all day’ to say the total amount of something, if Joe and Dave are behind on tickets then they're ‘in the weeds’. And so on an so forth.

He's given a menu and a glossary of lingo, food terminology, allergies, food safety, and health codes to go over on his break after the midnight rush.

He never thought he'd be studying after college but life is just full of fucking surprises today.

He notices how everyone either gives Rob food throughout the night, or treats him really nicely. When he mentions this observation to Joe, he explains,

“When your mom told you that dishwashers weren't important and that you should study hard because no one respects a dishwasher, she was fuckin’ lying to you. If any of us decide not to show up, we can make do. But if his ass calls out? Then we get fucked. So treat your dishwasher right Braddles.”

(Apparently ‘Braddles’ might be his new nickname.)

Brad’s eye catches Joe and Dave in the middle of the rush and is taken aback at how graceful the two are in such a cramped kitchen. He finds himself staring at how they shout back and forth about who's taking care of what, helping each other out if they start getting swamped by tickets, and move around one another like they're ballet dancers all while dodging sharp knives and burning metal.

(Not that he'd ever tell them that, they'd probably give him a swirly in the deep fryer.)

Mike spends the first half of his night expediting (or ‘expoing’) the tickets, making sure the right food goes to the right table. In between expoing he manages to find time to interact with the customers, he remembers the names and important details of all the regulars and tells Brad to commit them to memory. (“When you remember their name and even small things about them, they're more likely to leave a better tip.”) When the rush is over, Mike spends the rest of the night in the closet/office, going over paperwork. Chester doesn't buy that though.

“He's probably lookin’ at porn.” Chester tells him as they drop the plates in front of the nice family with tired looks on their faces. The middle aged mother covers her young son’s ears, scandalized by such talk. The father doesn't mind, he’s clearly too tired and hungry to give any fucks at this point. Chester rolls his eyes and places the grilled cheese in front of the boy. “Lady, it's two in the morning, you've lost all rights to complain about us corrupting your kid.”

“Is he always like this?” He asks Rob later as they split a slice of key lime pie that Dave brought Rob earlier.

“Who, Chester? Yeah. Today’s a good day though. Last week someone tried to order dairy-free mashed potatoes and I thought he was gonna bite the man.”

“Last month someone said they had a black pepper, garlic and onion allergy and then she ordered the spaghetti and meatballs,” Dave tells him later, “Chester almost threw an onion at her.”

(Brad’s brain almost shorted out trying to comprehend that allergy.)

“How long have you been working here?” He asks Joe. The man gives it some thought before answering, “‘Bout a year an’ a half now. Dave started shortly after me and Rob came only about three-four months ago. Mike’s been here almost two years now. And Chester’s been here almost three years.”

This explains so much about Chester. The only question is how he hasn't killed someone or set the place on fire.

“Even if this hellhole caught fire, Rick would still have us here the next day workin’ like it was just another day. All it would mean is I'd go a day without pay and my broke ass can't afford that. And for all you know, I HAVE killed someone.” Is Chester’s response to that particular question.

After what Brad's been going through tonight, he wouldn't be shocked if Chester’s backyard is full of bodies of people with fake allergies and picky orders.

By three thirty the place is empty and they're bored out of their skulls. So naturally they grab the hand towels and start rat-tailing the shit out of each other. Rob, as it turns out, is a sneaky motherfucker who managed to wet the tip of his towel while no one was looking, resulting in bright red welts wherever his lashes make contact. He also seems to have some weird ESP shit going on that helps him land his hits on his foe’s nipples.

For a superpower it's pretty unsuspecting, but after the third nipple whip, Brad knows that he must NEVER get on on Rob’s bad side. So to enforce their newfound alliance, Brad offers to help Rob with his homework in between the dishes and serving tables.

Sometime after four (out of boredom) Joe shows him how to tell what temperature a burger is just by poking it. As a reward for getting it right, Joe slides him a small stack of pancakes that a customer didn't want at the last minute. Brad’s not sure what Joe did, but they're the best damn pancakes he's ever had.

(Sorry mom, but you’re reign has ended.)

When five rolls around, so do the construction workers, bus drivers, cabbies, and teachers. They stare into the abyss and hold onto their coffees like it's their only source of life and Chester tells Brad to keep their mugs full.

“I took too long with a kindergarten teacher’s refill one time and she came at me with a pair of safety scissors.” He explains. So Brad takes the advice and keeps the coffee flowing like a fountain.

Hey he’s managed to go twenty-five years without a scar, cavity, broken bone, or even a surgery, he wants his record to stand.

He even manages to wait on his first solo table without spilling everything on himself or the customers. It's a large table full of burly construction workers who could probably bend him in half backwards if he so much as mixes up their orders. But by now they've had enough coffee that if they were dropped in the ocean they'd be able to swim to Mexico so he’s feeling good. All their food goes to the right person, their coffee brightens their eyes, and he’s proud at how he's finally mastered holding the serving tray.

(“Don't lay it flat on your palm you won't be able to adjust it if you run into someone, ya gotta rest it on the pads of your fingers, it distributes the weight better and you won't hurt your wrist so you'll be able to enjoy some alone time when you get home.”)

They leave a good tip and he feels a sense of pride well up in his chest. He places the tip in his shirt pocket and gently pats it.

(Chester teases him about it later, but Mike tells him to shove it and give Brad a break.)

His shift is over at six, when the parade of tired servers, dishwashers, and cooks shuffle through. Their eyes are devoid of all happiness and they look like their souls died as soon as they started working here. It's a scene that looks like it's straight out of _The Walking Dead_. Chester and Sam share an icy look as they pass each other. Mike whispers to him that Sam is Chester’s ex and they parted on less than ideal terms.

He leaves for the long walk home exhausted, his feet hurt, his ‘fro is loose after breaking the hair tie during the rat-tailing, and he feels like punching a fucking cow out of frustration.

But he’s going home with around two hundred fifty dollars in cash tips, so he guesses he might as well stick around.

(It's actually half of Chester’s tips, since he’s the one training him.)

When he gets home he kicks his shoes off and heads for his bed. He’s been thinking about it since twelve. He pulls all the cash and change he’s received in tips tonight and throws it on his bed. The tip he received from the construction workers goes into his box of keepsakes and mementos. Falling back onto his mattress, he breaks out in smiles and giggles as he attempts to create a snow angel out of cash.

He falls asleep in his boxers on a bed of dollar bills, a smile gracing his face.


	2. The Maple Syrup Incident

The incident, henceforth known as “The Maple Syrup Incident” is all Hollywood’s fault. It you want to get into specifics, it's Will Ferrell's fault, Brad will attest to that, he’ll even go under oath in a court of law if need be. Will Ferrell went too far in his attempt to be funny, and now Brad is paying for it.

He’s just glad that Chester isn't in jail and that the family won't be suing the diner. He just wishes the news crews would go away already.

It all began a week after he started at _The Blackout Diner_. His body is slowly adapting to his new overnight schedule and he’s even taken Joe’s advice and started sleeping with a pillow under his feet to help ease the pain and swelling. As far as things go in the diner, it's been pretty uneventful and slow. It's two in the morning and they haven't had a customer come in over an hour, so Dave ropes him in on helping them prep food. Nothing serious, just dicing onions and peppers for the morning shift. His fingers are covered in bandages and he’s nearly cut the tip of his thumb off twice, but at least he knows how to hold a knife now.

(“Key to cutting onions and not cryin’ like a little bitch is to use a sharp knife. If your knife is dull you'll be cryin’ like it's the end of Ol’ Yeller. And you’re cutting all wrong, you have to go in a rocking motion.”)

Brad hears the ticket machine and Joe grabs it, shouting, “One steak n’ eggs, med-rare, scrambled with cheddar cheese, one gyro, extra tzatziki sauce and one kids spaghetti and meatballs.” Joe takes charge of the first part of the order, while Dave takes command of the pasta and gyro.

Figuring that there might be more people up front, Brad cleans up and goes to check things out.

The dining room is empty save for a small family: a young father, mother, and a boy no older than seven. It's the boy that throws him for a loop. While mom and dad are both young and fit, Junior over there is fat. Like, even his fingers are chubby and the kids has to weigh a buck fifty. The kid is loud and making a mess, spilling water everywhere, squirting ketchup all over the floor, and even opening the sugar packets on the table and downing their contents like they're Pixie Stix.

Holy. Fuck. He hasn't even talked to this child yet and Brad already wants to punch him in the nads.

(Brad is a good person, he swears, it's just this job brings out the worst in him.)

Realizing that Chester must've been the one to take the order, he goes on the hunt to find the tattooed menace. Brad finds him in the employee break room, which is just bigger than a closet and has a two person table and microwave/refrigerator combo. Chester’s looking on his phone, a face so serious that it genuinely concerns Brad. (He didn't think it was possible for Chester to be serious.) Chester brings the phone to his ear and says,

“Hello Child Services? I'd like to report an unfit couple with a child.”

Oh fuck no.

Brad quickly grabs Chester’s phone and ends the call, turning the phone off for good measure. He pockets the device before angrily whispering, “You can't just call Child Services because a kid is an asshole Chester. If that were the case, they would've taken you as soon as you popped out from your mom’s vagina.”

“They're doing NOTHING about his behavior out there Brad!” Chester protests as he tries to take his phone back, “And do you see how big he is he probably weighs more than you and I combined! They're probably fattening him up so they can eat him, we'd be doing him a favor!”

(Brad resents that, he’s not skinny, he just runs lean, that's all. It’s Chester who’s the beanpole, Brad and Joe even have a bet going as to whether or not Chester wears women's pants.)

“Chester, that's _Hansel and Gretel_ , which is a fairytale. If you'd remove your head outta your ass every once in a while, you'd be able to tell the difference between fact and _fiction_. And you can't just call Child Services because the kid is fat! What if he has a serious health issue and he has no control over it?”

Chester looks like he’s going to respond, but Mike pokes his head through the door, an annoyed look on his face, “Either of you planning on doing your jobs tonight or am I running food now too?” Chester shakes his head.

“I'm not dealing with that fucking family, Brad can deal with that shitstain. You can even keep the tip.”

(Brad’s eyes lighten up at that, he just needs another fifty dollars for his overdue rent. Who knew tips could add up so quickly?)

Brad nearly runs Mike over to grab the orders, determined to be the best fucking server these people have ever had. Placing the dishes in front of their respective owners (mom gets the steak, dad gets the gyro, and Junior gets the pasta), he asks if they need anything else. A demonic voice screeches,

“ ** _MAPLE SYRUP_**!” and Junior starts banging his fork and knife on the table, chanting the offending Canadian export as if he thinks doing so will open a portal to Canada and a Mountie will hand him a jug of it.

Oh sweet lord was _that_  what the kid sounded like? And maple syrup? For what? Mom and dad seem unsurprised, they even have small smiles on their faces.

“Oh we'll ever since our little angel saw _Elf_ two years ago, he puts it on everything! Isn't it cute? He thinks he’s Buddy the elf!” Mom answers his confused face as she pinches a fat cheek and dad ruffles Junior’s hair, oblivious to the monster they're creating.

(The chanting hasn't stopped, it only grows louder with each passing moment. Brad is concerned that the glass and windows might break soon.)

He's too shocked to say anything but smile and stiffly walk over to the condiment station, the phrases ‘maple syrup’ and ‘Buddy the elf’ echoes through his brain. At least this gives him a possible reason as to why Junior is so big.

Chester sees him staring at the syrups and approaches him, “Now what does the little fucker want?”

“Maple syrup for spaghetti…” Brad says. Brad has that thousand yard stare going on, as if the syrups will whisper the secrets of the universe if he keeps looking at them. He says it so quietly that Chester almost doesn't hear him.

But _almost_  and _doesn't_  aren't the same thing sadly.

Running past Brad, Chester dives into the bathroom, a loud ‘click’ is heard as he locks the door behind him. Feeling uneasy, Brad checks his pockets and realizes Chester has somehow stollen back his phone from him.

Oh no.

He runs full force into the bathroom door, but the lock holds. Ramming again, his effort is rewarded with a sore shoulder and nothing else.

(Okay, so maybe this is _some_  truth to what Chester said about him earlier. When he has more money, he'll join a gym, he swears.)

Mike, hearing the commotion, demands to know what the everloving _fuck_  is going on.

“Maple syrup… Spaghetti… Kid… Chester… Child Services…” Is all Brad can get out as he continues to try and break down the bathroom door. Seeming to understand, Mike shoves Brad out of the way before placing a hard kick to the door, busting it wide open.

(“I wanted to be a cop” is Mike’s explanation.)

Chester looks at them like a deer caught in a semi’s headlights, phone to his ear. Brad and Mike try and jump him, but he's a slick motherfucker and manages to slip through their fingers and run through the dining room, shouting details to the Child Service agent on the phone.

(“They're letting him put maple syrup on his spaghetti do you not understand the implications of this lady? That means they've let him do it before! No parent who does that should be allowed to have a kid! STOP LAUGHING AT ME DAMNIT AND SEND SOMEONE WHO CARES DOWN HERE!”)

Brad and Mike are hot on his heels, but Chester is clearly built for speed whereas Brad is built for doughnuts.

Joe and Dave by now have made their way out front to see what the commotion is, to which Mike yells, “Get the fucking phone from Chester!” Needing no further instruction, they join the chase.

It's like watching a fox hunt, only much more pathetic really.

(The family, by the way, has a front row seat to all of this. Mom and dad are clearly not pleased at the idea of someone who looks like Chester calling them unfit parents. Junior meanwhile has long since left the table unbeknownst to his parents in an attempt to find his precious maple syrup.)

Brad is wheezing, Dave has murder in his eyes (as for why, Brad has no idea, it's not like Dave knows what's going on but he suspects that Dave just wants to _really_  kill Chester), Joe looks like he's about to either have a stroke or a heart attack (maybe both?), and Mike has pit sweat coming through his blue button up shirt, while Chester looks as fresh as a daisy.

Brad needs to find out what the fuck Chester is on and find a way to sell it.

Out of nowhere a large figure tackles Chester with a battle cry worthy of Valhalla and the two land on the family’s table, sending the food to the ground and shattering the table beneath them.

(Apparently Rob used to be a linebacker in high school.)

Rob stands up, Chester’s phone in his hand and he proudly raises it in the air like he’s caught the fucking Golden Snitch. The poor phone is broken beyond all repair, which is both good and bad.

Good, because Chester is no longer trying to get Junior taken away.

Bad, because by now Child Services is most likely on their way and now Mike has to go to his office and try and convince them not to come.

Mike grabs Chester by the ear and drags him to his office, his face a color that Brad didn't know humans could be without dying. Joe and Dave head back to the kitchen. (“Master doesn't likes its when we is out of the dungeon.” Dave says in a voice that sounds like a combination of Igor and Gollum before he and Joe jokingly limp back to their stations with fake bumps on their backs and their hands pinned to their sides like claws.) Rob walks back to the dish pit, whistling as he tosses the phone in the air like its a ball.

Which leaves Brad alone with a _very_  pissed off family. There's an awkward silence before he gives them an uneasy smile and asks,

“Would you like to see our dessert menu?”

(They don't want to and threaten to sue. Brad strings together some legal jargon as to why they shouldn't and they agree so long as they get to eat for free for life. He says he'd have to leave that one to Mike and Rick and gives them their numbers. Junior finally returns with four syrup containers and screeches when he realizes what's happened to his precious spaghetti, throwing the syrups full force against the walls, shattering them and sending syrup oozing down the walls.)

Chester and Mike emerge from the office thirty minutes later. Brad and Rob are trying to clean up, with Rob cleaning up the remains of the table and food, while Brad drew the short straw and is trying to get syrup off the walls without destroying the paint.

(Apparently Chester isn't fired for whatever fucking reason. Mike looks pissed and Chester just looks at them all smugly as if he knows something they don't.)

The smug look is wiped off of Chester’s face when Mike takes all his tip money citing, ‘payment for damages’, and tells him that he won't wait on any tables until the mess is cleaned up, which Chester will be doing by himself. Brad hands Chester a rag and Rob hands him a mop before the two go skipping off to the back laughing their asses off.

Brad thinks that’s the end of it. Brad is wrong. _Very_  wrong.

It's not until the next day that Brad finds out how wrong he is.

Apparently someone at the diner saw the security footage and posted it online. No one knows who did it but Chester is convinced that it was Sam, despite having no proof.

Last Brad saw it has fifteen million views on YouTube and climbing.

The video made the local news, which prompted the family to call in and tell their side of the story, which then caused all the local news outlets to swarm the old diner trying to get a statement from ‘Crazy Tattoo Dude’ as the internet has dubbed Chester.

(“All our little angel wanted was some maple syrup for his spaghetti and this… punk tries to say we’re unfit parents because of it! All we want is for our baby to be happy why is that such a bad thing? And our son is not fat, he is simply big-boned.)

They've been instructed, and this is a direct quote from Mike, “Keep your fucking mouths shut or I will take your tongue out, staple your mouth shut, and serve your tongue as the Early Bird Special do you fucking understand me this goes double for you Bennington.”

Rick is both ready to pop a blood vessel in his brain and giddy. Apparently after the video went viral, people have been lining up out the door trying to get in, hoping to get a glimpse of ‘Crazy Tattoo Dude’, ‘Jewfro’, ‘Chubby Samurai’, ‘Angry Leprechaun’, ‘Beastmode’, and ‘Sweaty Guy’. Business hasn't been this busy in years.

Brad groans into his hands and contemplates shaving his head, signing autographs is getting tedious.

(Chester loves it. “I feel like I'm a rockstar!” “You, a rockstar? In your dreams now take this order to table 232.”)

But hey, at least he’s got the money for rent now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the time I almost called Child Services because a child ordered their butter spaghetti with a side of powdered sugar (but I decided against it). I hope you all liked it!


	3. The Vanilla Extract Fiasco

It's been a week since The Maple Syrup Incident and the news crews are finally gone, onto the latest Presidential tweet and cute puppy video. The amount of business has died down a little, but people still flock to see ‘The Diner Psychos’. None of them like the name. Well, none of them but Chester, he’s embraced it and is milking every second of fame he can get.

(Even his grandmother has seen the video, bless poor Bubbe’s heart. Brad has never felt such shame.)

The worst part about the video is that everyone on this hellhole of a planet, except three people in the Amazon, have seen it, so trying to land a lawyer gig is damn near impossible now. Whenever they do ask to meet for a formal sit-down interview, they turn him away as soon as they realize who he is.

(He spent almost two hundred thousand dollars on a degree that he may never use. One google search of his name and that fucking video is the first result to come up. He’s gonna be stuck in this fucking diner forever.)

Something about this god forsaken diner just seems to attract the weirdest and worst of humanity. It’s like a magnet of stupidity, he’s sure of it. The owners must’ve built it on top of an ancient Native American burial ground or something.

So when he comes in for his shift and sees Mike lying on the floor in the employee break room, hands over his face, Brad’s asshole involuntary clenches shut.

He cautiously approaches his manager, poking him with a foot he would be okay with loosing (it's his left foot).

“Brock fuckin’ Bianchi is coming to do one of his stupid shows here.” Mike groans out. He looks like he's thinking about becoming one of those monks who live a life of poverty and take a vow of silence. Brad raises an eyebrow.

“Brock Bianchi? From The Foodie Network? He's coming here?” He asks as he crouches down to Mike’s side. Brock Bianchi is one of The Foodie Network’s more well-known ‘celebrity’ chefs. He doesn't actually even teach the viewers how to cook, he mostly either drives around in his classic 1969 mint green Ford Mustang visiting restaurants, or judges the latest cooking competition.

(“Unfortunately dude, we asked for your steak to be medium rare and you gave us medium and that is NOT totally rad. You've been Sliced.”)

Mike rolls himself up, his button up shirt wrinkly but he’s beyond caring about it at this point. “He called Rick yesterday morning wanting to meet the ‘totally awesome tattooed dude’ and doing a live segment on the diner for his show _America’s Raddest Diners_.” He looks at Brad with a look that says ‘I'm getting closer and closer everyday to bringing a chainsaw to this place’. “I swear on your mother’s grave Delson that if you aren't on your best goddamn behavior I'll have your ass as the special tomorrow, do you understand?”

(Mike is not normally this violent. Mike is the type of person who empties his wallet for a homeless person, fosters shelter animals, and volunteers at soup kitchens. He's just REALLY passionate about his job.)

Brad nods his head before running off into the dining room to start his shift. An uneasy feeling takes hold of him.

He hopes Chester can behave.

The film crew show up just before eleven, the director and Brock’s manager going over with Mike on what they expect, possible dishes for Brock to try, (Joe’s famous pancakes and Dave will show off the ‘Heart Attack Burger’: it's a four patty burger complete with eight slices of cheese of the customers choice, fried onion rings, a fistful of bacon, lettuce, tomato, a hotdog inside, all on two glazed doughnuts) as well as a sit-down with Chester, who, “Brock loves and thinks was totally in the right”.

(If Chester’s head swelled up anymore with hot air then he’d soon be flying away, taking the diner with him. And at this point, Brad would prefer it.)

Brad tries to convince them to either blur his face out or just not film him at all, not wanting to send his poor Bubbe to an early grave, but these people are sadistic and refuse citing, “Rick already signed the paperwork”.

If the tip money wasn't so good and if he wasn't so afraid of Rick’s beard, he'd smash Rick in the face with a brick. Repeatedly.

The makeup team comes in and one man faints at the sight of what they have to work with. (One tells Chester, “You'll be fine it's these heathens we have to worry about, is that a man bun and samurai goatee over there sweetie the samurai died out for a _reason_  get your cute ass over here.”)

They trim his beard to something more appropriate and start going for his ‘fro but he makes a break for it when he sees the buzzer.

(DO. NOT. TOUCH. THE. ‘FRO.)

When they're done, Joe has lost all his facial hair and they've cut off his man-bun, forcing him wear a hair net to prevent any unwanted hair in food. Dave’s head is freshly buzzed and shined, his goatee trimmed. Mike’s hair is fluffed and his facial hair is in a perfectly symmetrical beard, his wrinkly shirt is replaced with one that is a size too small. (“Dude I can see your nipples through the shirt!” “Don't make me dock your pay Hahn.”) Even Rob wasn't able to escape the hair stylists and the cloud of makeup, his facial hair now covers the tip of his chin and they've given him a quick haircut, his hair now reaching his chin. (“I just clean dishes you guys won’t even come my way, besides the water and steam will ruin the makeup.” “Oh darling you look FABULOUS, besides Brock wants to talk to ALL of the Diner Psychos and really wants to meet you Mr. Beastmode.”)

The only one who escapes relatively unharmed is Chester, who must be the universe’s favorite person, while Brad must be it’s outhouse. They just gave him some light makeup and gush over his newest hair style (red mohawk with the hair on his sides his natural dark brown).

They film a few takes in front of the diner first before Brock Bianchi kicks the door in, arms wide open as if to say, “Hello world, there’s no need to worry, everything's gonna be okay, I'm here now”.

Instantly Brad knows he’s not gonna get along with Brock Bianchi. His shoulder length brown hair has cheap thick platinum highlights and styled as a mullet, his skin tone resembles a sweaty orange, and even his beard has been bleached. He’s even wearing an oversized bowling shirt with flames embroidered on it.

He's the definition of a frat boy long past his prime and blissfully unaware of it.

“‘Sup dudes!” He says in an voice that sounds like he’s been told that this is what a California accent sounds like, is trying very hard to imitate it, and is failing very miserably at it. He sounds like a California surfer dude stereotype has come to life. “You guys ready to have, like, a totally awesome time?”

Brad can almost _hear_ his coworkers twitch with every word that comes from Brock’s mouth.

Mike walks over to Brock and introduces himself as the manager, cameras rolling, broadcasting live to the world.

“It’s Sweaty Guy from the video dudes!” Brock shouts as he attempts to fist-bump Mike.

Oh god time to run. He can see the anger rising in Mike’s eyes.

Brad turns to try and make a run for it, one last desperate attempt to save face with Bubbe, but is held back by Brock’s manager. She’s stronger than she looks and if her grip on him is anything to go by, he’s not the first to try and make a break for it. Brock spots him and brings the cameras over to him.

“Jewfro! Great to see you! How’s it feel to be an internet sensation?” The oversized man-child asks him as he tries again to get a fist bump. From behind the cameras, Chester is visibly restraining Mike from strangling Brock, the overnight manager clearly doesn’t want the video brought up.

But right now the cameras are rolling live and they’re shoved in his face. He’s never been a spotlight person. All Brad can manage to squeak out is, “I’m sorry Bubbe,” before breaking free of the managers grasp and run for cover in the back.

Joe is mourning the loss of his man-bun and using a squeeze bottle to make pancake art, his tears occasionally drop into the batter, forcing him to start again. Dave is slicing onions, his knife going faster and faster until it’s a blur in anger as he thinks about being known to the internet as ‘Angry Leprechaun’. (“Yes I’m Irish and yes I have red hair but I’m not short goddamnit! But because I’m a fire-crotch that fucking means I’m a Leprechaun I guess!”) Brad is unsure how Dave hasn’t lost a finger yet. Or maybe that’s Dave’s idea: chop a finger off so he can get away.

If things keep going this way, Brad may just have to resort to that.

Deciding to try his luck somewhere else before his fellow coworkers snap (well, anymore then they already have) he opens the door to leave the kitchen, only to get another face full of camera.

“Jewfro! Wazzup man! Are you like, gonna show us where the magic happens?” Brock asks. By now it looks like Chester has either found some rope, or has tied enough napkins together to fashion a rope and tie Mike down to a chair in the break room, all somehow out of sight from the cameras.

(Mike takes this diner VERY seriously and does not like the fact that a has-been dudebro has taken the place over for the night. At this point, the restraints are for Brock’s safety.)

“Pancakes.” Is all he can say, opening the kitchen door for the camera crew. Brock practically skips over to Joe, who’s finally been able to finish a pancake without over salting it with his tears. It’s a self portrait pancake, it honestly looks just like Joe, complete with his old facial hair and man-bun. Brock bites into the pancake, causing two sounds to echo through the kitchen.

The first sound is that of Brock having the most violent foodgasm that Brad has ever had the displeasure of witnessing. (“I’ll have what he’s having,” Chester jokes.) The second sound is that of Joe sobbing, he’s metaphorically lost his man-bun twice today. He manages to blubber out how the secret is that he adds cinnamon, vanilla extract, nutmeg, and a dash of lemon zest to the batter before he goes right running out of the kitchen.

“Alright dudes, now Angry Leprechaun is gonna show us the dinner’s most bodacious burger, The Heart Attack Burger!”

Dave spins around, knife in hand looking absolutely _livid_ before he shouts, “I’M NOT A FUCKING LEPRECHAUN!”

Brad hopes that they have the ‘bleep’ button on standby. He’s surprised that this is the first time they would’ve had to use it.

Brad witnesses the world’s most angry burger ever be made. Dave makes it with so much hate in his heart that he’s sure whoever eats it will have that anger transfer to them, causing them to punch something or do something violent.

Brock is oblivious to this, and continues with questions about the burger. The man is about as dense as a concrete encased bowling ball.

(“What do you season it with?” “Salt and spite.” “What about spices?” “Hatred.”)

The burger is a monstrosity. (Brad’s only seen it once before, the man eating it had a stroke midway through eating it, but last he’s heard the man is expected to make a full recovery.) It’s almost a foot tall and a knife is stabbed through the middle of it to keep it upright.

It’s a crime against humanity and Brad is certain the the person who created it either rotting in hell, or will be rotting in hell when they die.

Brad leaves to find shelter in the dish pit, maybe he can find some sanity there.

(Out of all of them, Rob is the most sane. He’s like a palate cleanser for his mind amidst the downward spiral that is his life now.)

He runs into the dish pit, where Rob has somehow managed to crouch between the wall and the dishwashing machine, hiding himself from the prying cameras. (It’s no small feat considering he’s six foot four.)

“Move over, they keep finding me and if I’m on this show much more my family will disown me.” Brad begs.

“Every man for himself Delson find your own hiding spot.” Rob snaps back before grabbing the hose and sending a light spray at Brad. “That was your warning shot. Come any closer and I won’t be as forgiving.”

Groaning, Brad runs off to dry storage. It’s a pantry where all the dry goods (spices, pastas, breads, canned goods and such) are kept. Normally the door propped open due to the lock locking automatically whenever it’s closed, so it’s odd that when he goes there to hide, the door is closed.

Fortunately for Brad, he has a key.

Quickly unlocking it, he swings the door open, only to be greeted by the sight of Brock Bianchi chugging the gallon-size bottle of vanilla extract. Brock looks at him wide-eyed, bottle still in hand. He must’ve slipped away during the commercial break.

“Please don’t tell my manager dude,” Brock pleads, “The bitch took all my booze.”

Grabbing the vanilla extract (apparently, legally it has to be at _least_  thirty-five percent pure alcohol), Brad runs out to the dining room, with Brock hot on his heels.

“He’s tryin’ to get drunk off vanilla extract!” He shouts to the world, feeling vaguely like Paul Revere. By now Mike has broken free of his bindings, napkins still tied around his wrists and ankles. He’s trying to convince the director to “get the fuck outta here I don’t care what Rick said, motherfucker isn’t here right now you gotta go” and when he hears Brad’s shouts, he turns red. He lunges at Brock, hands around the man’s beefy neck, shouting,

“You sonovabitch that shit is three hundred dollars a gallon! Do you know how hard it was for me to get food costs down below thirty percent?”

(Chester is off cheering for Mike on the sidelines and the cameras are capturing everything.)

It takes a team of no less than five people to pull Mike off of Brock. When Mike is off of the chef, he’s got a hand full of hair and that’s when the world learns that Brock Bianchi is bald.

Brock lifts a hand to the camera, trying to block the lense and salvage his secret, shouting, “Turn it off! Turn the _fucking_ cameras off!” But by now it’s too late.

The entire film crew grab whatever they can carry and make a run for it. Whatever they can’t carry is left behind, it belongs to the diner now. Mike has even managed to find a shovel somewhere and is wildly swinging it around, almost foaming at the mouth.

How the _fuck_ was Chester the one who didn’t make a fool of himself? Brad looks to the sky to see if he can find any flying pigs, because clearly the world must be ending if _Chester fucking Bennington_  is the best behaved out of all of them.

(Chester meanwhile is back in the dining room nearly pissing himself laughing at all of this.)

Brad’s cell phone rings, and he picks it up only to hear the sobbing of his Bubbe and his parents screaming at him over the phone. Ending the call, he turns off his phone and throws it, only for the poor this to get hit mid swing by Mike and his shovel.

He’s never gonna be a lawyer, is he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the time we had to fire a coworker for drinking the shitty cooking wine. You should’ve closed dry storage dumbass. Also inspired by my chef’s story of how they found out a line cook would take the vanilla extract to the bathroom trying to get drunk. Ew.


	4. Prom Night

It’s been four days since the Vanilla Extract Fiasco and there’s an uneasiness in the air that Brad can almost taste. For the past hour, Mike, Chester, Dave, and Joe have been pacing back and forth, all muttering some variation of, “Why does it feel I forgot something? Is today something important?”

It’s clearly driving the four of them nuts.

When he asks Rob what he thinks is going, on the dishwasher just shrugs. “I’ve only been here five months man this shit is just as weird to me as it is to you. Lemme tell you, when I graduate in January, I’m gonna be like Cinderella at midnight and bibbity-boppity the fuck outta here.”

It’s an eerie calm right now. Even outside, the normally busy streets are devoid of all cars and pedestrians. The air is still, the only sounds are coming from the kitchen and dish pit. Brad gulps loudly, for some reason, it feels like the calm before a category five hurricane. If he saw a tumbleweed, he wouldn’t be shocked.

It’s when Chester sees the first limo pull up that the server realizes what they’ve all forgotten.

“PROM NIGHT!” Chester shouts as he runs through the diner, alerting his fellow employees of what’s to come. (Chester can scream really loudly, he could probably be heard on the other side of town right now.) “PROM NIGHT!” He shouts as he slams the door open to the closet/office. Mike pales and looks like he’s gonna take that idea about the monastery really seriously after tonight. “PROM NIGHT!” He shouts as he runs through the kitchen. Dave drops his knife in shock and Joe tries to escape out of the small window in the kitchen. He only gets his head through before Dave pulls him back in. (“If I’m going down I’m taking you with me motherfucker!”) “PROM NIGHT!” He shouts to Rob and Brad, who have no idea what the fuck is going on. When they voice these thoughts, Chester grabs Brad by his shoulders. The usually hyperactive older man looks like an old war vet who’s going through some serious flashbacks.

“It’s tradition among the high school seniors here to come and eat here after prom. Usually the schools all have different prom nights and we can manage. But once in a blue moon, the stars align and all of them have prom on the same night. And guess who the diner gods decided to fuck over tonight?”

Oh.

_Oh._

_**OH**_.

“BATTLE STATIONS!” Mike shouts as they brace themselves of what’s to come. Dave makes the sign of the cross, Joe kisses his lucky necklace, Rob begins praying, and Chester? Chester starts loudly singing the opening notes of ‘Eye if the Tiger’. (“BUM! BUM BUM BUM! BUM BUM BUM! BUM BUM BUUUUUUMM BUM!”)

The doors burst open and Brad is punched in the nose by the wall of Axe body spray and cheap cologne. A cloud of hairspray and perfume floats through the air, choking anyone unfortunate enough to breath its toxic fumes.

Brad has never known true fear before. But he’s been experiencing a lot of new things ever since he got this job. Fear is just one of them.

Within minutes the diner is at capacity with a line of limos bringing more students in. There’s a line of impatient, slightly tipsy teenagers going out the door. He’s never seen the diner this busy before. Dave and Joe have tickets pouring in, they’ve even recruited Mike to help out in the kitchen. They’re so far out in the weeds that they might as well be in Africa.

It’s a mix of the elite private schools (those kids are the picky ones who insist on getting everything gluten-free despite not knowing what gluten is) and the run of the mill public schools (those kids just want their food hot and ready while trying not to strangle one another once they realize their school rivals are sitting the next table over).

Even Chester, who normally is a god among servers, is frazzled. He’s practically throwing the food at the teens before moving on to the next table. (“Here’s your fuckin’ food ya animals. Bon ap-fucking-petit. NEXT TABLE!”)

Poor Rob just can’t keep up with the dishes by himself and his homework and textbooks are soaked. (“There’s no way I’ll be able to sell this back now, I paid two hundred bucks for this thing man.”)

The prom goers seem to have an endless supply of booze going between them. As soon as Brad spots a guy in a powder blue tux with a bottle of Jack, he confiscates it, only for a girl in a skimpy pink dress to pull out a flask from her bra and pass it around between her friends

“It’s useless Brad!” Chester shouts above the crowd, he’s got a tray in both hands as well as one balancing on his head. “They’ve all got booze and’ll rip your hair out if you try and take it!”

(It’s then that Brad notices that one girl in a long red dress has a fistful of Chester’s red mohawk in one perfectly manicured hand and a bottle of tequila in the other.)

Brad hears a howl coming from the kitchen and runs in, hitting Dave in the middle of his forehead with the door. There’s no time for a concussion though, he continues platting the fifteen burgers he was working on.

Mike has his left shoe and sock off and is standing with his left foot in a bucket of ice, frantically calling out orders and doing what he can that doesn’t involve moving. He looks at Brad and says, “Boiling water fucking hurts.”

(That’s when he eyes the pot of water that they normally have on the range to heat up pasta is now on the floor, water everywhere.)

“Shouldn’t we call an ambulance or something?” Brad asks as he stares at Mike’s foot. From what he can make out, the burn is the size of his fist and it has to be at least a second degree burn. Mike looks him dead in the eye and says,

“Death before dishonor.”

And just like that he resumes what he’s doing. (And now Brad feels very inadequate about his manhood.)

“GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE BRAD THE PACE KIDS AND WESTCHESTER KIDS ARE TRYING TO START A FIGHT!” Chester yells from the dining room. Grabbing a large sauté pan, Brad runs out with a cry, using the pan as a makeshift riot shield.

(The Pace School and Westchester High School are lifelong school rivals in every aspect of high school life and are known in the area for their fist fights whenever a large group of the two get together. Tonight is no exception. This particular fight starts because a Westchester student brought up how Pace lost the championship game to them. It went downhill from there.)

It’s a madhouse out there, there’s a mob of close to twenty kids using every dirty fighting trick in the book to try and take down their opposing school’s students. (Chester is trying very hard to stop one girl from gouging out the eyes of the other and it’s not working very well.)

Teens are dancing on top of tables, tuxes and dresses are being torn, wigs are being pulled off, one girl is even using her stiletto heels as a shank, one boy is crowd surfing, people are vomiting, and condiments are being weaponized.

Brad runs back into the dish pit and grabs Rob by his collar, shouting, “Clean later, stop riot first!” before throwing Rob to the wolves.

(“Your sacrifice will not be in vain Robbie!” “FUCK YOU BRAD!”)

Rob’s height and former linebacker skills come in handy in their efforts to subdue the now drunk teens.

One boy jumps from the countertops onto Chester’s back, the older man wastes no time in slamming the student against the wall, causing him to lose his grip of Chester’s back.

Brad blocks a stray heel from going into his eye, but its match gets in in the family maker, sending him to the floor.

(Why is it that so many of his shifts are ending in fist fights lately? He’s gonna have to take up boxing at this rate.)

“FOOD FIGHT!” A lone voice screams and it’s like an order from God himself to these hooligans. They grab whatever food they can get their hands on and start throwing. It’s like watching monkeys throwing poop really.

At this point all hope is lost. The diner belongs to the teens now. It’s not even a diner at this point, it’s more of a makeshift dance club. All they can do is cower behind the counters and hope that someone decides to ask for the bill and that it stops when the morning shift clocks in.

(Their battle wounds are as followed: A chunk of mohawk missing, torn shirt, gash in side of skull with a bit of a high heel sticking out of it, and broken glasses for Chester. Second degree burns on left foot for Mike. One black right eye and lifelong fear of teenagers for Rob. Three new burns on his arms and a missing eyebrow for Joe. Sliced left palm and slight concussion for Dave. And a black left eye, bruised balls, bruised ego, and a broken bottle over the head for Brad.)

Slowly the crowd begins to thin as drunken curfews are being made. A few of the designated drivers pay what they can, any hope of a profit is now a long forgotten dream.

“I don’t get paid enough for this Mike.” Joe says as the last student stumbles out. Mike shoots a glare at the cook before gesturing to his now bandaged foot. (Dave found the first aid kit and had taken it upon himself to dress everyone’s battle scars, citing, “Mom’s a nurse now get over here Chester, Rob I’m gonna need you to hold him down while I remove the heel.”) “Point taken.” Joe says as he collapses into a seat.

“We are SO fired.” Brad says as he surveys the damages. There’s ketchup, mustard, and various syrups everywhere, chairs are broken, some booths need to be reupholstered, and did someone rip that stool from the floor? That shit was bolted to the floor.

(Brad’s almost hoping to get fired at this point. He’s thinking about faking his death and starting a new life somewhere. He speaks Spanish, maybe Mexico.)

“Nah, my grandpa’s the owner, he’ll pull some strings for us.” Chester says as he adjusts the bandage encasing his head.

Wait, _what_?!

“YOUR GRANDPA’S THE OWNER?!” Everyone but Mike shouts in disbelief. This explains how Chester can act like he’s the boss when he kinda is.

“I though Rick was the owner?” Dave asks as they surround the older man. They want answers and they want them now.

“Nah Rick just runs the place. Grandpa Art built this old thing and when he retired ten years ago he put Rick in charge. The diner is still in his name though, so he has a lot of swing around here still.” Chester explains matter of factly. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell him what happened. He loves me, I’m his favorite grandkid and the father of his great-grandkids.”

_WHAT_?!

“YOU HAVE KIDS?!”

Even Mike is surprised by that revelation. That sense of fear is back and it’s hitting Brad full force. There’s more little Chester’s running around. (How is even this possible? Chester is just a year older than him and yet Brad hasn’t gotten laid in two years.) Chester looks shocked that they don’t know.

“Well yeah, I have four kids and my wife is pregnant.”

“YOU’RE MARRIED?!”

“No, I wear this ring on my finger for my health.” Chester says sarcastically as he shows off the ring. It’s a simple white band, timeless and classy. (How is it that he’s never noticed it before?) “You guys gonna keep interrupting me or can I get a word in?” They all nod, mouths still wide open. “My high school girlfriend and I had twins, then we broke up, then Sam and I had a boy, and my wife Talinda and I have a son with another on the way. That’s why I’m so fuckin’ broke even after working three jobs, child support is a bitch.” (“Jesus fuck Chester haven’t you ever heard of a condom?” “Not my fault that the condoms either break or the girls miss a dose of birth control Rob!”)

It’s too much information for poor Brad. The idea of four (and soon to be more!) baby Chester’s running around is too terrifying.

He passes out and dreams of Chester laughing maniacally while leading an army of babies, hell bent on world domination.

It’s the most horrifying dream he’s ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the time at my last job where they had me and one other guy on the fry station on SUPER BOWL FUCKING SUNDAY. Also inspired by the time I accidentally poured boiling water on my foot in the middle of the rush.


	5. Jalapeño Penis

Good news! Brad and his coworkers didn’t get fired!

Bad news, Brad and his coworkers didn’t get fired.

(Grandpa Art at least made sure that the repairs didn’t come out of their paychecks so yay, Brad gets to eat this week.)

They’ve made mortal enemies of the day shift though, so there’s that. Actually, overnight shift has made enemies out of all the other employees. (“Sam keeps given’ me death threats and won’t let me see Draven now! Not like I ASKED to face an army of demons, but apparently that’s my fault too.”)

Poor Mike has been getting around in a crutch but refuses to take time off to heal his burned foot. (“If I’m not here then you assholes are probably gonna find a way have the earth open up and swallow this place.” “That’s… actually a valid point, see you tomorrow I guess.”)

Oddly enough they’ve formed a weird bond after Prom night. Two days after the chaos they invite Brad to join them in their after work hangout. He’s exhausted but the idea of having friends is nice.

(Brad… has never been much of a people person i.e. his idea of a Friday night is in front of the tv with a blanket wrapped around him watching _Law & Order_ reruns while shouting legal inaccuracies at the tv.)

The go-to bar is called _Norman’s_. It’s one of the only twenty-four hour bars in town, so it’s a safe haven for all overnight workers. As it turns out, one of the bartenders is Chester’s wife, Talinda. (“Wait, TALINDA is your wife?!” “Dave I know for a fact that you’ve seen me kiss her.” “I thought you were being friendly!”)

Talinda, as it turns out, is a ten on the hotness scale. She’s only three months pregnant, but she’s already showing. Even then, it only adds to her beauty. (“Yeah she did some modeling for Playboy a few years ago. Mike stop trying-Mike-MIKE DON’T FLIP THE TABLE OVER!”)

Brad feels like crying out of frustration at how unfairly lucky Chester’s love life is compared to his own.

(The first time Brad kissed a girl he was six and the girl started crying. It hasn’t gotten much better for him since then.)

They fill Brad with enough beer to the point where Rob has to practically carry him home on his back. They get lost three times with Brad’s drunken directions before Rob manages to find Brad’s phone and gets directions from it.

(“ROBBIE! Rob, Robo, Robback Robama, I wantcha ta know I fuckin’ LOVE you man! You’re th’ BEST fuckin’ dishwash’r I know!” “Brad I have class in five hours where the fuck is your apartment?”)

And so a friendship is forged.

The next night is slow. People have heard about the Prom night damages and as a result business has halted except for a few dedicated regulars until the necessary repairs are made. Rick still refuses to close the diner though.

(“This diner has been closed only two days in its sixty-three years: on JFK’s funeral, and on 9/11. Now if you’re telling me that what you went through is the same as those two days, be my guest. If not, then I’ll see you tonight.”)

The last customer left an hour ago. Brad is helping Rob with his homework and Joe and Dave have roped Chester into slicing jalapeños for nacho toppings.

Hearing his new phone ring, Brad decides to go somewhere more quiet. Excusing himself, he heads for dry storage. Oddly enough, it’s locked.

Not learning his lesson from the Vanilla Extract Fiasco, he unlocks it.

He’s greeted by the sight of Chester with his pants and boxer briefs around his thighs, and oh dear God _**HE’S TAKING A DICK PIC**_.

They just stand there for what feels like forever. His phone call is long since forgotten and **_he can’t stop staring at it_**. The image is forever seared into Brad’s brain. When he dies, it’ll probably be the last thing he sees.

“My wife is at home and we’re both horny.” Is all Chester can say. His pants and underwear are still around his thighs and lil’Chester is still at full mast in one hand, phone in the other. What’s really not fair is that he’s bigger and thicker than lil’Brad. Once again, the universe shits on Brad while rewarding Chester for doing nothing.

(Brad hasn’t blinked since he came in.)

A look of pain suddenly flashes across Chester face. He howls before dropping his phone to the ground before pushing Brad aside, running out of dry storage, his ass as bare as the day he was born.

(Error: 404 brain [name:/brad] not found. Attempting to find. [scanning…] [scanning…] [scanning…] Scan complete name:/brad not found Error: 617 involuntary shut down in 3… 2… 1…)

Mike hobbles in on his crutch. “Please tell me there’s a rational explanation as to why I just saw Chester run into the bathroom with his naked ass out while screaming bloody murder? A customer could’ve seen him!”

(He sees it every time he blinks. He’d pour bleach in his eyes but that would mean his new world of darkness would be bombarded with images of lil’Chester.)

“Brad? Brad?” Mike says as he starts waving his hand in front of Brad’s face, finally snapping Brad out of his daze. He tries to refrain from blinking, if only to save what little brain cells he has left.

“Dick pic…” is what he gets out. A scream from the bathroom interrupts their conversation, the voice distinctly Chester’s. Mike hobbles angrily over, just because Chester’s the owners grandson doesn’t mean Mike won’t whoop his ass with his new crutch.

(Some people would think Mike would be harmless with a crutch. Those people are wrong. Mike is not helpless now, he’s even more deadly than before. The crutch only now means he has a longer reach.)

Brad silently follows Mike, unaware of his surroundings and walking like he’s trying out for a new zombie movie. He’ll need to get therapy now, wonder if he could file that under workman’s comp?

Mike uses his crutch to bang on the door, “CHESTER!” He shouts. “What the _fuck_ is this I’m hearing about you taking a dick pic in dry storage? WE KEEP FOOD IN THERE YOU ASSHOLE!”

“WHY’S IT BURNING?!” Chester shouts back. “MY COCK IS ON FUCKING FIRE WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO?!”

Mike turned to Brad, exasperated at the situation he’s found himself in. “Do you know if he’s touched anything spicy lately?” He asks with a defeated sign. What’s left of Brad’s brain remembers the jalapeños, so he mentions it to Mike. The manager breaks out laughing, he’s doubled over and almost on the floor pissing himself.

“STOP LAUGHING AT ME AND FIX THIS!” Chester shouts. Mike wipes his tears away and answers,

“You dumbass! The oils from the jalapeños stuck to your hands and transferred to your dick when you were taking your pictures! Hope it was worth it!”

“FUCK YOU MIKE!”

(Brad winces at the idea of jalapeño dick. He got jalapeño juice in his eye when he was a teen and couldn’t see out of it for almost thirty minutes. Maybe God is real. He may have to start going to temple again.)

Mike turns to Brad and tell him to go to the walk-in and fetch him some yogurt or sour cream. Confused, he follows his instructions. Dave and Joe are confused, but he’s never heard them laugh that hard when he said, “Chester’s got jalapeño penis.”

He can’t find sour cream, but he finds a large tub of yogurt. Bringing it to Mike, the manager knocks on the bathroom door.

“Alright Chester? Listen closely. I’m giving you some yogurt. Rub it on and it should help.” The door opens a tattooed hand quickly snatched the yogurt before locking the door.

It’s quiet for a few minutes before the two heat something they never wanted to hear: Chester’s moaning. The realization slowly sinks in.

**_HE’S JACKING OFF_**!

A look is shared between the two: it says, “This goes to the grave, we must NEVER speak of this again!”

Chester let’s a loud cry out before it’s silent again. They hear the sink turn on and the toilet flush. (Brad needs to take a shower. With bleach.) Chester emerges from the bathroom and hands Brad the yogurt tub.

“Thanks man, I thought he was gonna fall off! Next time I’ll wear gloves when I’m dealing with those green fuckers.” And with that, he walks past them, presumably to go retrieve his phone from dry storage.

There’s an awkward silence between Brad and Mike. He looks at the tub of yogurt in his hands and gestures to it. “What should I do with this?”

Mike looks at it, disgust in his eyes, “Get rid of it. I don’t care if it’s a new tub, for all we know Chester fucked the yogurt.”

(Brad doesn’t bother to open it to see if there’s a cylindrical indent in the dairy product, he’s too scared that Mike might be right. He goes out back to the dumpster and throws it in. He hears a “Ow! My head what the fuck is this yogurt?!” Apparently he hit a homeless man. He got the fuck outta there before the man got out of the dumpster.)

He goes inside and tries to wash his hands with bleach, but Mike stops him, citing “Not good for you,” and “You’ll hurt yourself”. But it’s too late: Brad is scared for life. Rob looks concerned for him but Brad can’t bring himself to talk about it. Maybe one day. But for now all he can say is, “I’ve seen hell today Rob.”

After work they head to _Norman’s_ where Brad plans to drink until he can’t remember his own name, much less what he’s witnessed today. Mike looks like he’s planning on doing the same. They sit at the bar and tell Talinda to keep the booze flowing.

Without anyone realizing, Talinda sneaks off with Chester.

He’s on his third glass of beer (Mike is already on number five, he didn’t even see lil’Chester what the fuck is he complaining about?) when they hear a high pitched screech. Everyone in the bar is alarmed, Dave even asks if they should call the police. Before anyone can dial 911, Chester comes running down the hallway that leads to the bathrooms, hurriedly zipping up his pants.

“I NEED DAIRY!” He shouts. He jumps over the bar, looking for where they keep their dairy products. The other bartender, Sean, pulls out some heavy cream and Chester grabs it and almost backflips over the bar and runs back down the hallway.

Everyone in the bar blinks slowly in confusion. What in the hell did they all just see?

Mike and Brad make eye contact and start drunkenly laughing. (Mike falls off his barstool.)

When the rest of the diner gang ask what’s going on, all Brad can get out through the laughter is, “Jalapeño pussy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the time I almost caught a coworker taking a dick pic in dry storage but thankfully juuuust missed it. (But was still mooned twice in 9th grade gym class.) Thankfully I’ve never experienced jalapeño genitals!


	6. Chasing Some Tail

Two weeks after Chester almost lost lil’Chester to the jalapeños, everyone has taken to calling him some variation of ‘Jalapeño Penis’. (For example, “Take this to table 215 Jalapeño Dick,” or “Hey Habanero Cock can you get me some ketchup from the walk-in?” and “Shut the fuck up Pepper Crotch,” and so on.)

This pisses Chester off to no end, which in turn fills Brad with glee.

Repairs from Prom night are done, so it’s back to business as usual, which by now Brad has learned means the universe is about to throw yet another wrench into his life.

And sure enough, the universe says, “Hold my fucking beer.”

It all starts when Mike asks him to take some trash out to the dumpster. He begrudgingly does so, hating the smell and feels like he needs a deep steam clean whenever he’s within fifteen feet of it.

But hey, Mike is off his crutch now, so as least he no longer comes with a built-in weapon.

Dragging the trash can outside, he makes sure to check the dumpster this time for any stray homeless. What he finds instead is a small black furred kitten, jumping from one bag of trash to the other, apparently chasing a stray candy wrapper that’s blowing with the wind.

(D’aw…)

Adjusting his position, he accidentally steps on a soda can, alerting the kitten to his presence. The poor thing freezes in its tracks, back arching, fur on end, tail puffing up, and looking utterly adorable.

“Hey there,” he says gently, “I’m not gonna hurt you.” He stretches his hand out, hoping to get it to come closer. The tiny kitten doesn’t move, clearly thinking that if it doesn’t move, that means Brad can’t see it. He tries meowing at it, but there’s clearly a language barrier and he must’ve insulted it because it quickly turns around and jumps out of the dumpster before running faster than he thought any cat had a right to.

For some goddamn reason now he feels like he has to do something about this itty bitty kitty. So after work he finds a nearby animal shelter and shells out twenty bucks to rent a humane cat trap.

(What the fuck is he even doing he’s not even sure he likes cats.)

He picks up some canned cat food at a store on his way to work the next night. Everyone is giving him stares as he carries a large metal cage, (they’re looking at him like they think he’s either a serial killer or a pervert and he doesn’t know which is worse) but the repo company still has his car, so he still has to walk everywhere.

Before he enters the diner he goes out back and sets the trap up. Satisfied, he heads inside and begins his shift.

He checks on it during his break and finds an odd sight. He’s caught something alright, but it’s not a kitten. A raccoon has fallen for the trap and the animal doesn’t seem to mind really. In fact, the animal seems to be chilling. But it’s what’s on top of the trap that’s weird. Because laying on top with a smug look on its face is the kitten. It’s looking at him like it knows what Brad was planning and “Bring it on human you won’t catch me that easily.”

(He spent seven years getting a law degree at one of the best schools in the country and he’s been outsmarted by a cat. Oh the shame…)

Using a long stick to release the raccoon, Brad considers his options.

This may be harder than he thought.

The next night he comes an hour early and sets the trap along with a second trap. The second trap is literally just a box with a twig keeping a part up, with a string attached to the twig. Underneath the box he sets a tin of cat food. Hiding behind a stack of milk crates, he lies in wait, holding the string and ready to strike.

Only a few minutes go by before he spots the small black kitten. It cautiously approaches the box trap, clearly skeptical. With a swipe of its paw, it bats at the twig, sending the box to the ground, disabling the trap. Brad actually sees it follow the trail of string to him and makes eye contact with him. He swears that cat is grinning at him as if to say, “Really? You thought THAT would work?” Turning its head, it runs off into the night.

Fuck.

The next night he sets up the humane trap as usual. This time he bought a large butterfly net from a toy store. Climbing on top of the milk crates, he waited, butterfly net raised above his head.

What he wasn’t expecting was to hear some scratches behind him a few minutes later. Slowly turning his head, he saw the kitten at the base of the (unsteady) stack of milk crates. He feels himself pale as he watched in slow motion as the kitten simply puts one paw on the milk crates, sending them (and Brad) toppling into the full dumpster.

_What the fuck was this cat_?!

(Score so far: Kitten: 3 Brad: 0. Thank god he decided to come early to catch this thing, he’s able to run home and shower before running faster than he’s ever run back to work. His coworkers must NEVER find out he’s being outwitted by a _kitten_. If they won’t let Chester live down Jalapeño Penis, they’ll never get over this. It’d be like supplying your executioner with ammunition.)

Deciding to settle this once and for all, he buys a small can of tuna as well as a small bag of cat food. He places the tuna in the trap and lays out a trail of cat food leading to the trap. Hiding behind the dumpster with the butterfly net clutched in his hands, he thinks he actually hears his sanity snap.

“Gonna fuckin’ get you this time you fuckin’ cat.” He mutters to himself as he waits. “No fuckin’ escape now, I’m gonna get you. I graduated summa cum laude in fuckin’ law school you won’t get me again, no sir! Where are you, ya fluffy bastard?”

“Brad what the _fuck_ are you doing?” Joe’s voice asks behind him. Brad almost shits himself, he didn’t hear Joe sneak up behind him at all.

(He realizes how crazy he looks, he’s just beyond caring anymore. Oh how the mighty fall.)

“There’s a fuckin’ cat living around here and I’ve been tryin’ for the past FOUR days to catch it. He thinks he’s soooo smart well two can play at that game!” Brad rambles, his arms fly through the air, a crazed look in his eyes.

(Joe actually looks like he’s in genuine fear for his life.)

“You mean that cat?” Joe asks, pointing behind Brad. Sure enough, the kitten is sitting in the trap, as if knowing this would piss Brad off. (It does.)

“Oh NOW you fall for the trap! I’m telling you Joe, this thing KNEW what I was trying to do! Watch, it’s gonna escape or something!”

(It just sit there, staring at Brad. Joe quietly mourns the loss of Brad’s fragile sanity. _The Blackout Diner_ has claimed yet another victim.)

Grumbling to himself about ‘fucking cats they’re not all that great dogs are better anyways,” Brad lifted the cage and started heading home, only for Joe to remind him, “Hey fucker, your shift started five minutes ago!”

Oh fuck. Where was he supposed to put this thing? He couldn’t just leave it in the trap outside, it was starting to rain. And it was giving him that big sad eye look, like the one Puss ‘n Boots did in _Shrek 2_. And as soon as it let out a small ‘mew’ his heart melts.

“Just tell Mike and put it in the break room with some newspapers under it.” Joe advises. “Now hurry up, I got shit to do.”

(Joe probably has nothing to do. Just because the diner is no longer under repairs doesn’t mean business is booming.)

Honestly, Brad is scared of Mike. Sure, he’s a great guy and the best boss he’s ever had (re: he’s the _only_ boss he’s ever had) but he can snap at a moments notice. From what he heard, he managed to get Brock Bianchi in the head with the shovel during the Vanilla Extract Fiasco and the celebrity chef needed twelve stitches. But hey, Mike loves animals, so maybe Brad’ll get lucky.

And that’s how he finds himself standing in from of the closet/office, knocking on the door. He cautiously steps inside, keeping the trap behind him (not that his skinny frame is doing much to obscure it), feeling like he’s navigating a very crowded minefield. Mike is sitting at the desk doing some work on the ancient computer. (It’s probably not from this millennium but Rick refuses to upgrade, citing, “It works don’t it?” “Rick, it uses dial up internet, just fucking upgrade already resistance is futile.)

“So what are the odds you’d be okay with me keeping a cat in a cage in the break room for the night?” He asks with a sheepish grin. Mike just groans and puts his face in his hands. He’s not in the mood for any of this bullshit today.

“I just want one uneventful shift here, but apparently that’s like asking Santa for a unicorn.” Mike mutters into his hands.

A loud scream breaks their conversation. By now Brad knows that this scream belongs to Chester. Looking down into the trap, he sees that the kitten has done the impossible and escape.

_How in the fuck_?!

(Mike refuses to help. “Solve your own problems for once I’m not coming out tonight, just don’t burn this hellhole down.”)

Running out into the (thankfully) empty dining room, he sees where the kitten has run off to. It seems that it has manage to think that Chester was some kind of tree, because it has latched onto the servers right leg, it’s claws piercing Chester’s jeans and digging into his calf.

“GET THIS HELLSPAWN OFFA ME!” Chester shouted, wildly swinging his leg trying to dislodge the animal. But that just makes it hold on tighter.

He tries to grab it, but Chester’s moving around too much. This is how he accidentally makes contact with lil’Chester through his jeans. (Well now he needs to cut of his hand. That’s okay, he’ll just relearn how to do everything with his left hand.)

“Stay still Spice Crotch!” Brad yells at Chester before grabbing the older man’s leg in an attempt to hold him in place. Chester looks like he’s ready to sock Brad in the nose, but reconsiders when Brad grabs the kitten by the scruff and detaches it from his leg.

So Chester settles for hitting him upside the head. (“Swear to God if that thing gives me fleas I’ll shave your ‘fro and feed it to you.”)

Returning the kitten to the trap (and tying all possible escape options closed with some napkins) he places it in the break room and resumes his shift.

Thankfully nothing else happens that night. (Halle-fucking-lujah.)

After work instead of joining his coworkers at _Norman’s_ , Brad heads to the animal shelter to drop it off and be done with it.

But alas, life is never that easy.

“Unfortunately we’re at capacity right now.” A cute vet tech tells him. Her name tag reads ‘Elisa’ and she keeps giving him looks that take him a second to realize that _holy shit she’s checking him ou_ t. “What we can do is spay her and give her her vaccines then you can try and find her a home. It’s your best option really, all the other no-kill shelters are full too. Only one with space is the county shelter and they have a high kill rate.”

Groaning, he agrees, figuring “How hard could it be to find a home?” Besides, he almost lost his mind trying to catch this thing, he’s not gonna let it die.

(He even has to name it before they take it. “It’s a girl if that helps.” “I dunno, Loki I guess.”)

A few hours later he walks home with a drugged up cat and the phone number of the cute vet tech. He stops by a pet store on his way back and picks up a few essentials, figuring he’d have Loki for one, two weeks tops.

(He’s never seen a drunken cat before but watching Loki stumble around his studio apartment is goddamn adorable.)

He hangs up a ‘Free Cat’ poster in the diner the next night, complete with tabs advertising his cell number. Free cat! Who wouldn’t want that? This is the age of the internet, where half of YouTube is dedicated to cute cat videos.

Well apparently no one because three weeks later only one tab on the poster has been ripped off. (That was a weird phone call. “So what are you wearing?” “I’m sorry, do you want the cat or not?” “I’m wearing nothing, what about you?” “Bye.”)

“It’s because Loki’s black,” Dave explains, “because black cats are seen as unlucky, most people pass them over. If you go to any shelter a large portion of the cats are black cuz no one wants them.”

Well, shit. Looks like he’s stuck with Loki. But hey, he’s got a breakfast date with Elisa after his shift, so that’s a plus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the time I found a mother cat and her kittens living behind the dumpster at culinary school and wound up keeping one of them when no one wanted her.


	7. Hurricane Debbie

Hurricanes are rare in this part of the country. So when the Weather Channel puts them in the center of ‘The Cone of Uncertainty’ for Category One Hurricane Debbie, Brad is the only one panicking.

“It’s just a false alarm.” Mike tells him while they’re waiting for an order. “Every other year at least one is expected to hit us but they never do. It’s still so far away that they’re just guessing at this point. Besides, the last hurricane that hit here was a Cat One over fifteen years ago, we’ll be fine. Here’s your order for seat 213.”

“I’ll probably have a hurricane party.” Chester says when there’s some down time. “At most it’ll be a Cat Three. So come to my place, bring your weight in booze and we’ll get fucked up. Talinda makes a mean Long Island Iced Tea.”

But Brad has always been overly cautious. So on his way home he buys some bottled water, batteries, candles, non perishable food, and even a small camp stove.

“Babe, I think you’re going a bit overboard.” Elisa tells him when she sees him bring the fifth case of bottled water. She’s been spending more and more time at his studio apartment over the past few weeks, it’s almost like she lives there now, she’s even got a drawer in his dresser. Loki meows, as if to say “I agree with the pretty human.”

“It never hurts to be prepared.” He says defensively. She raises an eyebrow at him.

“You literally only have enough space for a path to your kitchen, bathroom and door.”

(It’s true. His studio only has enough room for a bed, a dresser, a tiny kitchen with room for a fridge sink and two burner stove, and even tinier bathroom. There’s so much shit now that if Loki wants to use her litter box, she has to go through an intense parkour style obstacle course. If she starts using his bed as a litter box out of frustration, he won’t be surprised.)

Over the next week Brad is glued to his small tv, which is permanently tuned to the Weather Channel. Day by day Hurricane Debbie slowly moves forward, gradually picking up speed and strength. As time goes by ‘The Cone of Uncertainty’ gets narrower and narrower with them still smack dab in the center.

It’s when Hurricane Debbie goes from a Category Three to a Category Five literally overnight that people start getting worried.

“I’ll probably bunker down at my place.” Joe says. “My nearest relatives are my aunt and uncle but they’re halfway across the country.”

(Chester started posting Hurricane Party flyers, only for Mike to take them down as soon as they were up claiming that Chester was “promoting dangerous and immature behavior” and well, yeah? What did he expect, this was Chester.)

“I’m not too worried,” Dave proclaims, “we still have a few days before things become certain, so why panic?”

Slowly they’re taken out of ‘The Cone of Uncertainty’ and everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief.

(“I bought ten six packs and a keg for nothing!” “Aren’t you supposed to be broke?” “So I spent our emergency fund, this WAS an emergency Robbie!”)

But two days later, the worst happens. Hurricane Debbie has dramatically shifted course and is expected to hit them in less than thirty-six hours. And that’s when Brad finds out that his shitty studio apartment doesn’t have hurricane impact windows.

“You could stay here,” Rick offers when he overhears Brad voice his concerns, “we need a team to stay behind and watch over the diner during the storm as well as protect the place from potential looters. We have impact windows and two backup generators so you’ll be fine. You can even bring that girlfriend and cat of yours. Most of the overnight shift have volunteered to be there too if that makes any difference.”

And that’s how he finds himself at _The Blackout Diner_ the morning before Hurricane Debbie makes landfall as a Category Five hurricane. Impact is t-minus eight hours and he’s had to turn off his cell phone because relatives he didn’t even know he had keep calling him. (“What’s your plan Brad?” “I’m sorry, who’re you?” “I’m your mom’s second cousin, don’t you remember me? I last saw you when you were learning how to walk!” “Why the _fuck_ would I remember that? And how’d you get this number?!”)

He managed to find some plywood and drill it to his windows before coming over. He’s got a backpack full of clothes, food, batteries, candles, water, and a sleeping bag with pillow, and a _very_ unhappy Loki in her carrier in one hand, spare litter box in the other.

(Elisa’s there too. “Now I get to see where you work!” “Please don’t judge me, my coworkers are NOT a reflection of who I am.” “What’s that mean?” “You’ll see.”)

Mike is there because _of fucking course he is_. He’s the proverbial captain ready to go down with his ship and he’s got an axe and shotgun at the ready to defend the diner.

(“Do I wanna know?” “No not really Braddles.”)

Joe shows up next, with a plastic Walmart bag of spare clothes in one hand and an Xbox in the other.

(“Joe there’s a ninety-nine point nine percent chance we’ll lose power.” “We have two generators don’t we Mike?” “It’s for the walk-in you dumbass, so unless you brought some backup gas, you’re shit outta luck.”)

Dave is next and he is at least a little bit more sensible than Joe. He has some clothes and some board games to pass the time as well as a couple bottles of whiskey. He also brings in a large Rottweiler named Bella. (“She doesn’t bite Brad, she’s just a closet cuddlebug I swear.” “Dave, she weighs as much as me, I’m not buying it!” “Meow!” “See? Even Loki agrees!”)

Rob comes shortly after. He has no backup clothes and the only thing he’s brought is his backpack full of homework.

(“Those sadistic motherfuckers refused to let a goddamn hurricane be an excuse and I WILL NOT let my GPA slip because of some rain.”)

Chester shows up last and Brad nearly passed out at what he sees. A small army of screaming children at at his and Talinda’s heels, a farm’s worth of pets trail behind them, and he’s rolling in a fucking keg.

“Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to my kids. The two trying to bite each other are my oldest twins: Jaime and Isaiah. Next is Draven. And the little one is Tyler. Oh and Talinda and I have some great news! We just found out yesterday that we’re gonna be having twin girls!”

(This causes Brad to nearly pass out in Mike’s arms, but the manager is having NONE of that and drops him to the floor. _SIX KIDS_.)

Jaime and Isaiah are fraternal twins, aged eight. Jaime looks like Chester’s clone while Isaiah must take after his mother with that blonde hair. Draven looks so much like a tiny Chester at five that it’s scary and Brad thinks there might be some genetic engineering involved. At two Tyler hasn’t really taken after either parent just yet beyond Talinda’s tan skin and brown hair, but he has the lung capacity of his father, that much is certain.

Chester’s brought a total of two cats and SIX dogs. (“Dude where do you fucking live where they let you keep a literal zoo?” “Grandma Weezy left me her house when she died three years ago so I at least don’t have to worry about a mortgage but the animals just keep showing up at my door.” “We have animal shelters here!” “But look at their widdle faces Joe!”)

“Chester why do you have all your kids here? Shouldn’t they be with their moms right now?” Joe asks as Jaime and Isaiah start wrestling and Tyler cheers his brothers on. Chester rolls the keg into the walk-in before explaining,

“Well Sam’s mom got sick a few days ago and since the bitch Debbie wasn’t supposed to hit us, she dropped Draven off with me. And Elka is off on her honeymoon in Hawaii right now, so that’s why I have the twins. And seeing how no pilot is stupid enough to be flying here, that means we’re stuck with’em.”

(Draven and Tyler have found a bottle of ketchup and are using it to draw on the walls. Jaime has wandered off to who knows where and Isaiah is shaking Loki’s cage. The poor thing keeps trying to swipe at the boy, but she can’t reach through the cage.)

Mike yanks a whiskey bottle from Dave’s hand and downs half of it like it’s water. He has the right idea. Joe rolls his eyes and heads back into the kitchen to fix up something to eat for everyone.

(Joe is officially the best cook Brad knows. “Why _the fuck_ are you here you should have your restaurant!” “And ninety percent of restaurants close in three years and I like sleep too much to put myself through that Dave. But I have my eye on a sous chef position at that steakhouse down the road. More buerre blanc?” “Fuck yeah.”)

They cram the cats into dry storage and the dogs are allowed to roam the dining room. Loki makes her displeasure known by trying to hide in Brad’s ‘fro and digging her claws into his scalp.

Talinda and Elisa make themselves comfortable in a booth and get some much needed girl time in.

“Your girl’s gonna be asking my wife sex advice.” Chester tells him with a lecherous grin. “I mean, I’m clearly amazing at it and Elisa is gonna want some tips.”

(Brad resents that. Sex with Elisa is fan-fucking-tastic. It’d been so long he’d forgotten how terrific it was. Now he has two years of lost time to make up and he’s making damn sure it’s just as good for her because who knows how long this'll last? Besides, lots of kids doesn’t equal sex god, just look at Great-grandpa Elijah. Thirteen kids and Brad has never met a more miserable woman than Great-Bubbe Rena.)

“Maybe you should go check on the proof of your sexual prowess Chester.” Rob tells the older server. “Jamie and Isaiah have convinced Tyler that the toilet water is safe to drink and now he’s pretending to be a dog. And I think Draven is sucking on a bottle of mustard like it’s a baby bottle.”

“God fucking damnit.” Chester mutters to himself before excusing himself.

They’ve been there less than two hours but Mike is already shitfaced. It was honestly impressive to see him down the entire bottle of whiskey by himself. Rob wisely hides the shotgun and axe before someone (mostly likely either Chester or a member of his brood) push Mike over the edge for the last time.

As it turns out, Mike is an affectionate, even cuddly type of drunk. Who happens to become _very_ bi-curious when he’s filled with this much alcohol. No one is prepared to handle this.

“‘M not th’ only one who thinks Chazzy’s pretty, ‘m I?” I-I know I like girls but he’s jus’ so pretty.” The manager rambles to Brad’s horror. “‘N his lips look… wanna kiss ‘im jus’ once but shhhh! Don’t tell ‘im Braddles! Pinky promise?”

He doesn’t think there’s enough booze in the world to help him forget that.

He flees while he can, dumping Mike with Rob. (“’re cute too Robbie ‘s not jus’ Chazzy.” “DON’T YOU DARE FUCKING LEAVE ME ALONE LIKE THIS DELSON!”)

The hurricane finally makes landfall at eleven pm. Chester has finally calmed down his circus and put them to bed in a pair of booths, to everyone’s relief. Mike has also passed out on the countertop, a line of drool slowly oozes out of his mouth and he drunkenly mumbles about ‘Chazzums’ in his sleep. The winds are loud and every once in a while he sees a large chunk of debris fly through the air. (Was that a _bike_?!)

Deciding to check up on Loki, Brad slips to the back, unlocking dry storage. (He’s 0-2 for unlocking this thing, here's hoping he breaks the pattern.)

Chester’s two cats come rushing at him and start rubbing against his legs. That’s nice and all but where’s Loki?

He hears a small ‘meow’ above him, and to his horror, he sees that a ceiling tile has been pushed aside and Loki is now _in the ceiling_. Loki gives a smug grin before scurrying off out of sight.

(He rues the day he ever came across this cat.)

He carefully scales the metal racks holding the canned goods and pokes his head through the ceiling tile. Loki is lounging near a pipe just out of arm's reach.

“Get over here you little shit…” he mumbles as he tries to reach the kitten. But Loki just rolls her eye and walks off deeper into the ceiling.

Great.

Using a pipe to hoist himself up, he carefully squeezes himself into the ceiling. (Because _why not_? This is just an average day for Brad in this hellhole.)

Spotting Loki near a corner, he shimmies to her and let’s a shout of glee out when he manages to grab her by her scruff.

And that’s when the ceiling tiles give way, sending poor Brad and Loki crashing into the dining room, landing on top of an unsuspecting Rob.

(“Do I wanna know Brad?” “I’d really rather not.” “I figured, now please get off me.”)

The noise wakes up Chester’s kids and now Brad can feel Chester and Talinda trying to drill a hole in the back of his skull with their glares. Talinda may be five months pregnant but the twins make her look like she’s farther along. He can almost hear her mentality wish for his death as she tries to herd the kids.

(“Nice going Brad now I gotta find the Benadryl.” “What the fuck Chester?!”)

They lose power shortly after two in the morning, so Dave goes to power on the generators and Brad breaks out the candles. The diner looks almost haunted in the candlelight. Joe pouts when they refuse to let him plug his Xbox in.

Mike groggily wakes up shortly after and runs to the bathroom to pray to the porcelain gods. Chester’s outside the door, teasing the manager about his drunken rambles.

(“So you think I’m pretty Mike?” “Blegh.” “You can make out with me if you want, Talinda won’t mind, hell, she’ll probably cheer us on.” “Guh.” “But that’s all we can do, I’m afraid our love can never really be Mikey, I hope you’ll understand.” “Blech.”)

Dave heads to the kitchen to try and fix up his famous ‘Hangover Helper’. Thankfully the gas stil works so they can still cook.

The cook breaks out Monopoly as well as the booze and battle lines are drawn. Elisa, as it turns out, is absolutely _brutal_ at board games and has no mercy, not even for her boyfriend.

At four they notice that the cats won’t stop meowing in dry storage so Joe goes to investigate. There’s a loud yowl followed by a terrified scream before the three cats come running out, soaking wet, which causes the seven dogs to think there’s a game, so they start chasing the cats, which in turn wakes up the kids yet again. Joe emerges from dry storage soaking wet and covered in cat scratches.

“So yeah we have a leak and rain’s comin’ in pretty hard.” He says matter-of-factly. Mike groans and hits his head against the table.

“‘M too fuckin’ hungover to deal with this fuckery right now just get the stockpot we’ll deal with this later.”

The stockpot is a pot large enough to bathe Brad, it should collect rainwater for a while at least. The cats are allowed to roam the dining room. Dave’s rottweiler, Bella, keeps wanting to check out Loki, but she’s having NONE of that and swipes at the large dog whenever she gets close. So she decides to hide out in Brad’s ‘fro and digs her claws into his skull whenever he tries to remove her. He just gives up and lets her be.

At half past five things get calm outside. Brad can even see clear blue skies outside. He almost steps outside, but Elisa stops him.

“It’s the eye of the storm. Don’t go out, it’ll be over soon.”

And she’s right, around thirty minutes later the hurricane is back at full force. (Did he just see a _Burger King_ sign fly by?)

Brad manages to take a nap around seven, slightly buzzed from the whiskey and beer, only to be woken up by Mike screaming, “BACK THE FUCK UP MOTHERFUCKERS!” (It’s a hellova way to sober up.)

And it looks like the hurricane is over and the looters have arrived.

Mike has a crazy look in his eyes and the axe is raised high above his head. (Well at least he didn’t find the shotgun, so that’s a bonus.)

The looters are a quartet of young teens, all four are boys who can’t be much older than seventeen. Their leader is a somewhat chubby teen with light brown hair, a newsboy cap, and a long pipe in his hand. To his right is a taller black haired boy with a goatee. To the left of the leader is a sandy haired boy with a beard that rivals Brad’s own and enough tattoos to match Chester. The final one has a mop of curly dark hair and a large chain wrapped around his fists.

They all look like they deeply regret ever coming into the diner.

“We don’t want any trouble man!” The leader says with an outstretched hand. “We just want some food, that’s all!”

“I fuckin’ told you that this was a bad idea Patrick” the one with the spikey hair muttered to the leader, now known as Patrick, “there’s a reason no one ever robs this place, this shithole’s on the news every month for one stupid reason or another. Besides, there’re kids here!”

“‘Hey lets go loot _The Blackout Diner_ ,’” the one with the beard said in a tone that seemed like he was badly imitating Patrick, “‘it’s such a bad idea, that it’s a great idea!’ Nice going Patrick, now ‘Sweaty Guy’ from the Maple Syrup video is gonna chop our heads off.”

“DON’T FUCKING CALL ME THAT!” Mike yells before readying his axe. He’s still bitter about the video it seems

(By now they should probably do something to make sure that Mike doesn’t commit a murder. But honestly, no one’s stupid enough to get between an angry axe wielding Mike Shinoda and his target.)

“You know damn well you liked my idea Pete!” Patrick says. “And I don’t sound like that Andy!”

“Can we just go home?” The fourth member asks. “It’s a weird personal preference of mine to NOT get attacked by a guy with an axe but apparently I’m crazy for it.”

“Shut up Joe!” The other three shout at their friend.

Suddenly, a large stockpot flies through the air, nailing Patrick in the forehead, knocking the poor teen out cold. Everyone turns around and is surprised to see that it was Rob who threw it. He’s retrieved the shotgun and he looks like me may actually use it.

“ _I HAVE HAD IT_!” He shouts. “I’ve gotten almost none of my homework done, none of the members of my group project are pulling their weight, and every time I get some _goddamn peace_ around here and try and be productive, something comes around to fuck it up! Now I’ll give you fuckers until the count of ten to get the fuck out of here or I get trigger happy!”

“But-”

“ONE!”

“C’mon man!”

“EIGHT!”

“We’re leaving holy shit!”

The teens grabbed their unconscious leader and dragged him out, running as fast as possible. Everyone slowly turned at the normally quiet and calm Rob, who was panting heavily and taking the shells out of the shotgun.

“I plan on graduating summa cum laude two semesters early and I refuse to let this bullshit diner get between me and my goals.” He says.

(Brad will never look at Rob the same way again.)

Everyone gathers their supplies and one by one head home. Mike decides to stay behind and look over things until Rick gets back to access the damage.

The damage outside is indescribable to say the least. Trees are everywhere, on top of cars, through buildings, and on the roads. There's debris everywhere and he’s fairly certain he saw a Stop sign sticking out of a telephone pole. There’s at least a foot of water flooding the streets and he sees the most vile and heartbreaking things float by.

“I like your coworkers.” Elisa says as the two slowly make their way to his apartment. He jerks his head up and stares at her, unsure if he heard correctly. Even Loki let’s a confused meow out, as if to say, ‘Really?’ “Well, yeah! It must be fun working with them! I bet they keep things interesting.”

(She’s clearly crazy, he knew it. She was just too perfect, there had to be something wrong.)

“I’m glad I got to spend this time with you babe.” She says as she slowly grabs his hand. She has that look in her eye that lets him know fuck yeah he’s gonna get it in!

(He doesn’t.)

The plywood didn’t hold up and his apartment is horribly flooded. There’s no way he can stay there.

“You can alway stay at my place,” Elisa offers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by my experiences with Hurricane Irma. Thankfully I didn’t have to go to work, but if that bitch hadn’t of been a Cat 5, I’d’ve had a five star luxury suite and even more shenanigans with my coworkers who provide me with daily inspiration for this story. We were gonna play PlayStation goddamnit!
> 
> Oh and see if you can spot the band cameo!


	8. Murphy’s Law

Brad isn’t sure how his life has gotten to this point. He wasn’t an asshole (well, not _that_ much of an asshole but this diner could even test the Buddha’s patience), he helped those when he could, he saw no reason for why the universe treats him the way it does.

(He must’ve been a serial killer or something in his past life and the diner is nature's way of getting payback.)

All he knows is that he hopes the diner won’t be closed for longer than the estimated two days, he has rent and he only need a little more money to get his car back.

It all started two weeks after Hurricane Debbie. The only damage that the diner seemed to suffer from was the large leak in dry storage. So even though a fucking _hurricane_ literally passed through less than twenty-four hours earlier, Brad finds himself back at work the day after the hurricane.

(“No one’s gonna come, we’re just wasting money at this point Mike.” “Don’t you think I don’t know that Chester? You try talking to Rick, he’d rather fall on his knife than close down for a day. Now get your ass over here, just because your grandpa built this shitstain doesn’t mean you get to skip work.”)

On the bright side, he was able to break his lease without having to pay extra (he just spouted some legal mumbo jumbo as to why continuing to rent it with the hurricane damages was unethical and that was that. He’s happy that at least he’s getting SOME use out of his degree), and he and Loki moved in with Elisa. Rent is split down the middle and he pays for tv and internet while she pays for electricity.

(Joe’s been teaching him how to cook. Gonna woo this bitch with his new skills. He’s back in the sack and he’s never going back to a lonely bed and his right hand for comfort again.)

Living with someone (especially someone who not only likes you and but likes sleeping with you as well) is glorious, and the only downside so far is that their schedules are polar opposites. By the time he gets home and goes to bed, she’s getting up and starting her day. When she gets home and stumbles to bed, he’s waking up and cursing that he lives in a capitalist society that demand money in exchange for goods and services.

They live together but they almost never see each other and lil’Brad is not happy at all. The best they can do is try and coordinate their days off together.

It took a week for people to finally start properly showing up again after the hurricane. It actually felt good going back into this hellish routine. Hell, he even missed watching Chester get smart with the customers.

(“Can I get the French Onion soup? I have a garlic and black pepper allergy by the way, will that be an issue?” “Dude, there’s already garlic and black pepper in it, you gon’ die if you eat that.” “Well it’s not so much of an allergy as much of an intolerance.” “Then it’s not an allergy, just be a grownup and just admit you don’t like it instead of using fake allergies.”)

He’s lost track how many times Mike has pulled the tattooed man away from a table mid rant saying “people can still have difficulty with intolerances without it being an allergy too dumbass” under his breath.

Running to the expo to pick up an order, he is taken aback at how smokey the kitchen seems. A white haze seems to blanket everything and every once in a while Dave or Joe would let a cough out. Even the small window (which was propped open with a cucumber) isn’t making that big of a difference.

“It’s the hood vent above the grill and flat top.” Joe explains while Dave props a door open to let the smoke dissipate. Brad can see that it’s weakly trying to suck up the smoke, but it’s like watching someone with debilitating asthma participate in a balloon inflation contest. “I’ve been saying that something’s wrong with it for the past few months, but out of nowhere it got worse.”

“Unfortunately we’re way over budget for repairs.” Mike explains while they’re in the break room sharing a pot of slightly burnt coffee. “Between prom night, the hurricane, and the bad press with Brock Bianchi, we have no room in the budget right now for anymore repairs. Only things that are absolutely an emergency gets fixed until the money is right.”

Chester offers to do a sequel to the Maple Syrup video to raise money(“I’m sexy, how about I do a webcam of me stripping and people pay to watch?”), to which Mike responds, “Don’t you fucking dare Red Hot Chili Pecker.”

“But Mikey, I’m pretty and you wanna kiss me, remember? We could make out, I’m sure lots of people would pay money to see that. Ooh! What about a sex tape with the two of us? You’ll have to bottom though, that’s not my kinda thing.”

“You’re married!”

“Fine, make it a threesome sex tape, she’d be all for it. How do you feel about handcuffs, whips, and dildos?”

“Don’t you have a job to do?”

“I’m not hearing a no! I’ll tell Talinda to bring the camera!”

So another week goes by like this. It’s the usual routine. Wake up, kiss Elisa, grab a quick bite to eat (he can actually flip an egg in the pan now instead of being forced to make impromptu scrambled eggs, ooh-la-la), brush teeth, put on work clothes, kiss Elisa goodbye, walk to work, listen to the stupidity, face the midnight rush, tell people “yes the kitchen IS supposed to be that smokey would you like fries or home fries with that?”, go on break, help Rob with homework, watch Chester say or do something that causes Brad to lose brain cells, clock out, walk home, kiss Elisa as she runs out the door, eats a tub of ice cream by himself while watching Law & Order reruns, and goes to bed with Loki sleeping in his ‘fro.

That all changes on Saturday night.

It’s busier than normal and a line cook quit during the previous shift, so poor Joe has already been there six hours and now has to stay for his regular shift.

Brad’s has to kick out two drunk people and almost carry another three to their Uber’s and people seem to be extra picky tonight.

(One kid sent his fries back _FIVE FUCKING TIMES_ because they weren’t ‘crispy enough’ and ‘I said no salt on my fries’. After the third return Joe had to restrain Dave from going out and punching the kid in the balls.)

The kitchen is especially smokey today and the hood above the flat top and grill is making loud noises that sound like a jet engine trying to take off. (Joe refuses to work near it and when the noises started, he took off running. No one knew Joe could run that fast.)

The phone next to the register rings, and Brad manages to answer it while he waits for a table’s order.

“ _The Blackout Diner_ , this is Brad how can I help you?”

“Hi I live the apartment complex next door,” a cheerful woman’s voice said, “are you aware that you have flames coming out of your vents?”

Huh?

“I’m sorry, I think I heard you wrong, can you repeat that?” Brad asks her. Surely he misheard her, fire coming from the vents?

“Well I noticed there’s more smoke than usual coming out of it, and every so often I see flames shoot out!” She said cheerfully, as if the implications of what she was telling him hadn’t hit her yet. Dropping the phone to the ground, he shouts loud enough to give Chester a run for his money,

“ _ **MIKE, CAN YOU GET OVER HERE PLEASE**_?!”

But Mike never has a chance to come over. A loud piercing shriek fills the diner. It’s so jarring that it takes a second for Brad to realize that it’s the fire alarms. And now thick black smoke is starting to fill the dining room.

Joe and Dave stumble out of the kitchen, covered in soot and ash, coughing up their lungs.

“So yeah I think the hood is on fire. I was able to turn the fryers, flat top, and grill off before we became smoked ham.” Dave tells them between coughs.

“Were you guys able to wrap the food up?” Mike asks as he starts shuffling customers outside.

“Fuck you Mike we’re on fucking FIRE!” Joe shouts at the manager, flipping him off before the two cooks run out the door.

(Mike has never been good with priority placement when it comes to the diner. In his mind things are ranked as followed: 1) The diner 2) Safety of the diner 3) Diner profits/money 4) Food 5) Customers and finally 6) His coworkers.)

The dining room is filling with smoke and Brad spies a middle aged couple eating their food, oblivious to the chaos around them. (Brad remembers them. Man and woman, he got the salmon and she got the pizza burger, medium. The pizza burger is a normal burger with mozzarella with the patty topped with marinara sauce.)

“Excuse me,” Brad says. They look up at him mid-bite, almost as if they don’t understand the gravity of the situation, “but I have to ask you to evacuate right now.” The woman waves her hand at him, saying,

“Oh it’s just a little smoke, we’ll be fine!”

(There clearly must be something in the water in god forsaken city that makes people stupider. It’s the only logical explanation.)

“I’m sorry, but the kitchen is on fire.” Brad says with a forced calmness. He’s sounding like his father after Brad did something idiotic as a child, and now his father is trying not to shout at him. “Nationwide fire laws, _and common sense_ , dictate that you both must leave the building.” The couple ignore him and never stop eating their food, they clearly intend on finishing their meal, fire be damned. Brad opens his mouth again, only for the husband to raise a finger at him, silencing Brad’s protests.

“Boy, I served in Iraq way back when Bush Senior was in office and all you were was just an idea of a sperm in your daddy’s nutsack. To me, this is just campfire smoke compared to back then.” The husband says between bites. “My wife and I are not pussies, we can handle it.”

(Brad can feel his blood pressure rising and his right eye starts twitching uncontrollably. If he pops a blood vessel in his head and dies, he wouldn’t be shocked.)

Fed up, Brad does the only logical thing.

Screaming at the top of his lungs in frustration, he lunges at the wife and grabs her, throwing her over his shoulders. Chester, (who up until then had been watching from the sidelines unbeknownst to Brad and actually refused to leave until everyone was out) follows suit and grabs the husband, proceeding to carry him firefighter style.

(It’s actually quite a sight to see: Two skinny white dudes running and screaming like they’re going into battle, carrying out a buff ex-soldier and his wife over their shoulders, all while smoke fills the air. It’d be almost heroic if the situation wasn’t so fucking stupid.)

The couple are kicking and screaming the entire way out, threatening to sue both of them and the diner. Chester puts the husband down on a sidewalk across the street and punches him in the gut, knocking the wind out of the man.

“You’re fucking welcome dickweed. The food’s good, but it’s not worth dying over.” The (currently) short mohawked man says as he turns around and walks away.

By now a fire truck has arrived and firefighters are on the roof with hoses, trying to find the source of the flames. Mike is talking with Rick on the phone, unsure what he did to deserve all of this. Chester is calling Grandpa Art, figuring “might as well tell ‘im the place finally tried to spontaneously combust”.

(Mike actually faints mid-call when they start spraying the hoses down the vents, Rob reluctantly catches the manager. Brad continues the call with Rick, starting with, “I swear to god we don’t mean for this nonsense to keep happening on our shift sir, I just wanna get my paycheck in peace man.”)

Chester starts rounding up the customers and starts handing out Rick’s number, promising that he’ll take care of any complaints and that all the food for the night is on the house. Brad starts looking for the flying pigs again. Chester taking any kind of responsibility beyond his kids is clearly a sign that the end of days is here.

Joe, Dave, and Rob are freaking out because in the midst of the chaos they forgot their belongings. Rob left behind his backpack full of homework and expensive textbooks (“They average a hundred fifty EACH Brad how am I supposed to resell them now?!”) and Joe and Dave left their knife kits behind (“I’ve got four hundred dollars worth of knives and other utensils in that thing!”).

Brad is just glad that all he has in there is the lunch that Elisa made him in the fridge in the break room.

They manage to rouse Mike from his fainting spell in time for the fire chief to come to them with news.

“Well good news is that everyone made it out unharmed. But it seems that Hurricane Debbie unknowingly damaged the vent when it passed through.” He explains. “We actually found the remnants of a tree branch inside. So when you combine the damage, branch, heat, smoke, and buildup of grease inside the vent, it was only a matter of time. Now we were able to save the diner, but there’s gonna be some damage in the kitchen.”

Well how bad can it be, they figure.

And once again the universe says, “Hold my goddamn beer.”

The dining room is relatively intact. It smells of smoke and water and there’s abandoned food everywhere. Dry storage is in one piece, and there’s a ceiling tile or two broken in the break room, but that’s about it.

The kitchen is another story.

It’s the most bizarre thing any of them have seen. (Chester even breaks out laughing before Mike shuts him up with a slap upside the head.) Ceiling tiles are broken everywhere and lay waterlogged on the floor. Water is everywhere, on the flat top and grill, the fryers are flooded with oil and water, all the food is drenched and probably has to be thrown away, and it looks like a storm has passed through.

But the most surreal thing is that there is water coming through the ceiling. It’s as if the kitchen is raining. Rob quickly takes a video and emails it to his professors muttering, “There’s no fucking way they’ll believe this, these bastards probably won’t even give me an extension on my papers.”

(Mike faints again, Dave catches him this time.)

“What’re we supposed to do now?” Joe asks. Chester just shrugs.

“I dunno. Grandpa says he called professional cleaners to come by in the morning to take care of the worst of it. For now I guess we just start throwing food out.”

(Over five grand worth of food has to be thrown away.)

At one point Dave finds an umbrella and uses it to try and prevent himself from getting more soaked. When Joe bring up the whole ‘bad luck to be under an umbrella indoors’, Dave just shoots back, “I handed in the rest of my good luck the moment I came in for an interview here, what more can this place do to me?”

(He has a point.)

Mike is in the closet/office, trying to get in contact with repair people and get an estimate for how long the diner will be shut down. They need new hoods and vents, as well as ceiling tiles, but until everything is cleaned, they’ll be unable to tell what else needs fixing.

They all chip in to help Rob clean all the plates and food containers after throwing the food away. The dish pit escaped the madness unharmed thankfully, so at least there’s some good news.

They’re soaking wet and even Brad’s underwear is sopping. They sit in the dining room, waiting for news from Mike about what to expect. The _Sorry, We’re Closed_ sign is up for the first time since 9/11, it actually took them a long time to find the damn thing.

Chester has removed his shirt and is wringing it out, revealing that his tattoos aren’t just limited to his arms.

(If Brad catches himself staring at Chester it’s because he wants to get a closer look at the tattoos. That’s his story and he’s sticking to it. No questioning any sexuality here, absolutely not.)

Mike finally come out of the closet/office, looking worse for wear. His tie is long gone and he has bags for days under his eyes.

“Well to say Rick is unhappy would be an understatement.” He starts as he collapses in a booth next to Rob. “Only reason none of us are fired is because it’s not our fault, but he’s getting sick of us being the ‘problem shift’. Repairs should take about two days, but I can’t guarantee that until we know the full extent of the damage.”

“What’re we supposed to do in the meantime?” Joe asks. Mike shrugs.

“I don’t fucking know man. Go skydiving, catch a movie, hire a hooker, do whatever you do when you’re not here. Just don’t get arrested, I’ve got too much shit to go through without having to hire and train a replacement because your dumb ass couldn’t obey the law for two days.”

Brad groans and hits his head against the table. Things were going so well for him too.

They’re allowed to go home, even though it’s hours before they’re scheduled to. But at this point, if none of them get some hard liquor in them, they’re likely to riot. So they shuffle to _Norman’s_ and sit at their usual spot at the bar. Chester and Talinda manage to lean over the countertop and make out, despite her obvious pregnant stomach.

“Just get us a bottle Jameson babe.” Chester tells his wife. “You would not BELIEVE the night we’ve had.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s right people, inspired by the time my FUCKING JOB CAUGHT FIRE. And yes, we did practically have to carry people out (they did NOT wanna leave their oysters) and it did look like it was raining when the firefighters were done. And yes, as we were evacuating my sous chef DID shout “wrap the food up it’ll all be destroyed if you don’t!”


	9. This Motherfucker Gotta Go

True to Mike’s word, two days after the fire the diner is back up and running. No one knows what kinda string had to be pulled to get the job done so quickly, but Chester suspects that blowjobs were exchanged.

Right away things are different as soon as he clicks in for the first time after the fire. The entire overnight shift is summoned to the closet/office where Rick and another man are waiting for them. The mystery man is around his height with black hair slicked back and dark sunglasses covering his eyes, even though they’re inside and _it’s nighttime_.

“Boys, I’d like you to meet Scott Weiland.” Rick introduces the man. “Scott is here to shape you boys up. For the past few months we’ve received a sharp increase in complaints, the majority come from the overnight shift. And let’s be honest, this shit doesn’t happen to the other shifts, only you guys.”

Scott gives them a smug smile and dear god he hasn’t even said anything yet but Brad wants nothing more than to punch him in the mouth.

(The man hasn’t even had a word come out of his mouth, but all Brad wants to do is shout “Shut the fuck up!” at him. Scott just has one of those faces.)

“I look forward to working with you all,” Scott says. He’s making this smug smile as if he’s only read about smiles and is trying _very_ hard to genuinely smile, but is only succeeding in looking like a douchebag, “I’m the one they call when things get absolutely out of hand. There’s been a massive increase in complaints with this shift starting with the Kabber family-”

“Who?” Chester asks, interrupting Scott.

“The family you tried to have Child Services take their kid away after their son asked for maple syrup for his pasta.” Scott answered. “Then let’s not forget about prom night.”

“There should’ve been more of us scheduled! And those fuckers were animals! One of them stabbed Chester in the head with a stiletto!” Dave pipes up. Chester slowly rubs the side of his head where the heel left a scar, his eyes have gone vacant, as if he’s having a Vietnam level flashback.

“What about the injuries sustained by Brock Bianchi after your manager hit him in the head with a shovel? And on national live tv no less!”

“He was chugging our vanilla extract trying to get drunk what the hell was I supposed to do?” Mike protested.

“The majority of people would’ve just TALKED to him!” Scott said, his voice rising, he’s not liking their excuses or their interruptions. “I also have a police report from four teenage boys who say one of you attacked them with a pot after they came here seeking shelter after Hurricane Debbie. You’re all lucky that they decided not to press charges.”

“They were looters! They were armed! Rob was defending us” Joe said.

“I haven’t even begun to get into the list of complaints about you.” Scott says, pointing a finger at Chester. “Snappy comments, cursing, insults, and one lady even says you threw an onion at her! If you were one of my employees, you’d’ve been out on your ass within an hour of working here. Don’t think I’ll let your shit fly because your the owner’s grandson.” Scott removed his sunglasses and narrowed his eyes. He stood up straight and said, “This is my restaurant so long as I’m here. You best learn that now and it’ll make things a whole lot easier for all of us.” Scott puts his sunglasses back on and walks out of the room. An awkward silence hangs in the air before Mike breaks it.

“Rick you can’t be serious about this! Most of those things weren’t our faults!”

“Lemme lay it straight to you mothfuckers, business isn’t doing so hot.” Rick said. “We’ve been seeing a slow decline in profits for years. That YouTube video was a goddamn godsend with how much business it brought us. But any profits we made from it went straight to repairs. Now I am begging you, don’t do anything stupid.”

(Asking them not to do anything stupid is like asking the greasy cheeto in office not to tweet: a lesson in futility is all it is.)

They try their hardest to be on their best behavior, honestly. It’s just that Scott is a smug bastard who seems to think he’s God’s gift to the world and he can do no wrong. And quite frankly, none of them like being told what to do.

“You’re wasting product,” he tells Joe when he starts making an order of pancakes. “The recipe book just calls for the pancake mix and water, nothing else.”

“But it tastes better this way.” Joe protests.

“And people are complaining that it doesn’t taste the same as the other shifts. Your coworkers follow the recipe and now you will too. No more unnecessary embellishments on anything from now on.”

(And there’s Joe’s reason who what’s to come.)

“Do you consider your coworkers your friends?” Scott asks Mike while he’s expoing during the end of the midnight rush.

“Well we’ve been through some shit and we’ll hang out at a bar after work, so yeah, I consider them my friends. Brad, take this to 222.”

“Well that needs to stop.” Scott tells Mike with that goddamn smile. “You’re their boss, not their friend. Being friends with them means they feel like they can take advantage of you and we don’t want that now do we?” Mike agrees through gritted teeth, he’s clearly killing Scott fourteen different ways in his head.

(There’s Mike’s reason.)

“Are you doing schoolwork?” He asks Rob when there’s downtime. He hasn’t had to do a load of dishes in over twenty minutes, so the college student was trying to get some studying done.

“I have a psychology exam coming up and an accounting project due by the end of the week.” Rob explains. “This is some of the only free time I have to get any of it done.”

“You’re here to work and clean dishes, not to do homework.” Scott says. He sounds and looks like he thinks he’s better than Rob simply because of Rob’s job title. “If I see you doing homework here again, I’ll throw it on the grill.”

(That makes Rob’s reasoning.)

“How many jobs do you have?” Scott asks Chester. Chester looks angry the Scott even exists, much less TALKING to him.

“What does that have to do with anything? I work full time here and part time at two other places. I’ve got almost six kids with three different moms so keeping up with child support while also taking care of my pregnant wife and her needs is a drain on the wallet.”

“Any goals you have?” Scott asks. He’s smiling, but it’s not reaching his eyes and Brad is genuinely impressed that Chester hasn’t dumped hot soup over the other man’s head. Chester answers through clenched teeth,

“Well when Grandpa Art keels over he says he’ll leave me the diner. I got some ideas for the diner that I think could really turn this place around.”

Scott actually scoffs at this. “You? Take over? Why would your Grandpa leave this place to you? You have no experience running a restaurant, you’re just a server anyway. Rick will probably get the diner so stop trying.”

(There’s Chester’s reason for wanting to commit murder. Both Brad and Rob had to physically restrain Chester from going at Scott with one of Dave’s knives. Chester doesn’t have a lot of things to be proud of, the list is simply his kids and the diner. So when someone insults his ideas about the diner, he takes it _VERY_ personally.)

Poor Dave was just minding his own business during a slow time when his girlfriend, Lindsey texted him. He was in the middle of texting a reply when Scott appeared out of nowhere and grabbed his cell phone, dropping in a pot of boiling water.

“You’re here to work, not text. If you have time to text, you have time to be productive.” And with that, he walked away, leaving Dave to try and fish his phone out with a pair of tongs, but it’s too late. The phone is dead.

(Dave is now on board the Murder Train.)

Brad doesn’t even know how it happened, it was all over so quickly. Scott must’ve been raised by ninjas or something. One minute he’s washing his hands in the bathroom, the next minute, Scott is behind him with a buzzer and now he has a large bald stripe going down the middle of his head.

(R.I.P Brad’s ‘fro 2014-2018. You will be missed.)

Scott at least lets him shave off the rest of his ‘fro instead of walking around the rest of the night with a bald stripe down his scalp. When he’s done, his ‘fro is in the sink and he feels a breeze on his head for the first time in years.

“Afro’s aren’t professional, the longest it should be is chin length. Even your friend Rob is pushing it. Keep your hair under control.” Scott tells him before he leaves the bathroom. Motherfucker doesn’t even help Brad clean up the remnants of his ‘fro!

Brad has murder in his heart and so do the rest of his coworkers. So when it’s time to clock out, they meet up at _Norman’s_  and agree: Scott Weiland has got to go.

(“Leave it to me, I just need a large tire and some gas.” “I don’t even wanna know Dave, I really don’t.”)

“Sweetie, I’d like to remind you that murder is illegal and if you go to jail I’ll have someone shank you for leaving me with three kids and no backup plan.” Talinda tells Chester as she drops off their beers and some shots. The older man groans and calls his wife a partypooper before they shift their planning to something a little less likely to get them thrown in jail.

“What if we make him quit?” Joe purposes. “We’d have to really drive him over the edge though. Really make him snap.”

They all turn their heads to Chester, who’s in mid drink. He shifts his gaze to them, unsure what they’re implying. Finishing his beer, he goes,

“What?”

“Dude, you have a gift.” Joe says as he slaps Chester on the back. “You attract crazy like flies to shit. If there’s anyone who can get him to quit, it’s you.” Chester groans and grabs a shot of vodka, downing it before saying,

“Fine. Gimme three days. Hey Mike, do you have any speedos or sexy male stripper clothes by the way?”

(Elisa almost fainted when she saw his forced upon hairstyle. She loves pulling his hair during sex. “Now what am I supposed to grab when you’re going down on me?” She complains. Loki is also displeased, the cat has taken to falling asleep in his ‘fro as if it were a nest.)

Three days later, the time had come. Chester has been unusually quiet over the past few days, but by now Brad had learned that he was silently plotting. Scott thinks that it means that his methods are working. Scott will soon see that he has never been more wrong in his life.

It’s shortly after their shift starts when Chester’s plan (which he refuses to share the entire plan with anyone other than Mike, he’s simply telling everyone what they have to do and when) goes into effect. Two large groups of people start making their way into the diner. Both are very female oriented and half seem to be in Star Wars cosplay while the other half is decked out in Star Trek attire.

“We’re here for the debate.” The leader of the Trekkies tells Scott. Scott is confused before Chester pipes in,

“Yes! Your booths are right this way! Please follow me!” He escorts the large group of women to a corner of the diner where they sit and start debating the merits of Star Wars versus Star Trek. Mike sees Scott’s confusion and answers,

“Once a month they come and debate various pop culture topics.”

(This is false. This is the first time Brad has ever seen this group. And why does Mike keep walking like he has a wedgie?)

Soon after another large group of women come stumbling in. To Brad’s shock, they’re led by Talinda, who has a plastic tiara on and a pink sash that reads “Mommy to be” across her chest. Elisa is there too and judging by the half empty bottle of tequila in her hands, she’s been drinking. In fact, all the women in the newer crowd are walking unsteadily, with Talinda being the proverbial sheep herder, if the sheep herder ever had to herd a large group of drunken sheep around.

“Hey babe!” Talinda greets Chester with a kiss. “So where should we sit for my baby shower?” Chester guides the group to a booth near the nerd debate. Those ladies are getting loud with shouts of “Captain Kirk is an overrated womanizing asshole who never should’ve passed the academy much less become captain!” and “Kylo Ren is a potentially abusive whiny man baby who needs to get his shit in order so why the _fuck_  would you ever pair him with space queen Rey?!” start filling the diner. The baby shower group take this as a challenge and start getting rowdier.

Scott heads over to the tables and try to calm them down. All he gets for his efforts is hail of cups and silverware hitting him, one fork gets stuck in his hair. “NO UTERUS NO OPINION!” One woman shouts from the baby shower table and by now they’ve merged into one large group. They’ve pushed tables together and apparently everyone is now friends, the debate long forgotten. Scott flees, it’s the right thing to do.

A large ‘BANG’ comes from the dishpit and Rob stumbles out covered in soap bubbles. He looks like a cheap Santa.

“So yeah the dishwasher is puking up bubbles and I can’t stop it.” He casually tells Scott. Scott grumbles under his breath and takes a shot at fixing it. Rob slyly grins at Brad and holds up a small piece of metal that he can only assume is a _very_  important part of the dishwashing machine.

“Chester asked me to break it without actually breaking it. Don’t worry, I can fix it later, but the point is that _he_ can’t.”

(Chester meanwhile has brought out a keg from who knows where and several bottles of hard liquor and is passing it out to the ladies. Elisa looks like she’s ready to jump Brad right there and honestly? He’s okay with that.)

Joe emerges from the kitchen with a laptop and an attachment that looks like a portable DJ spin table. Dave follows behind with some strobe lights and a fog machine and the two quickly set the electronics up. Joe opens his laptop and Chester stands up on the countertop (there's no way that’s not violating at least 3 health codes) and announces,

“Folks we have a very special guest for you tonight! I’d like to introduce-“

“ _ **MISTER HAHN**_!” The laptop blares before Joe proceeds to blow Brad’s mind with his turntable skills. All debates are forgotten and the ladies go silent. The lights go out, Dave turns on the strobe lights and fog machine and suddenly the diner is a dance club. A spotlight shines on Chester, who’s still on the counters and everyone’s jaws drop as Chester proceeds to strip to the music.

And that’s when Brad goes deaf for thirty-seven seconds due to the pitch of the screams.

How has he never noticed how fucking _ripped_  Chester is? The man looks so skinny in clothes but holy shit he’s been hiding some serious muscles and a six pack!

(Brad swears he’s straight.)

Chester is now wearing the shortest pair of shorts Brad’s ever seen on a man and he has a police hat on and a pair of handcuffs dangling from his shorts. He’s clearly trying to go with ‘sexy police officer’ and the women are eating it up. He’s fucking undulating his body like he has no bones and now every male in the diner is questioning their sexuality.

Chester turns around and leans down to pull Mike up on his makeshift stage. The manager is now in a tight neon vest with matching skin tight booty shorts and a firefighter’s helmet on his head. (Well that explains Mike’s funny walking.) The two men throw their hats to the crowd and Brad watches a small fist fight start as women try and claim the headwear.

And that’s when the two men embrace each other and start making out.

(Everyone’s brain shorts out.)

Talinda and Elisa are the loudest supporters in the crowd. A pair of panties fly through the air and hit Mike in the head, stopping the makeout session. Chester pulls the panties off of Mike and jokingly puts them on his own head as they continue their striptease dancing.

Elisa approaches him, her eyes dark and hooded and she kisses him with such force it feels like she’s trying to suck the soul right out of him. (He’s okay with that.) She tastes like tequila and it may now be Brad’s favorite drink.

“I want you to take me,” she whispers huskily in his ear, “is there anywhere we can go for some privacy?”

He throws her over his shoulder and runs to dry storage. (For once, _he’ll_  be the one locking it.)

They start making out with her pressed up awkwardly against a wire rack before Brad pushes a speed rack away and pushes her against the wall. She hurriedly unbuttoned his pants and _**OH FUCK MOUTH**_.

And that’s when Scott Weiland angrily slams the door to dry storage open. The man is soaking wet, covered head to toe in soap bubbles and he does NOT look happy at finding Brad with Elisa giving him a blowjob on the clock.

(Elisa’s a bit too drunk to care and continues what she set out to do. If Brad could form a coherent thought, he’d be impressed.)

Scott marches over to him and grabs him by the ear, dragging the poor server out with his pants around his ankles and lil’Brad swinging around.

“You are fired do you hear me Delson?!” Scott shouts as he drags Brad to the closet/office. Elisa’s trying to keep up and save her boyfriend, but the poor girl is too drunk and keeps tripping over her own feet.

They have to walk through the dining room to get to the closet/office and Brad actually sees a blood vessel pop in Scott’s head at the sight before him. Almost fifty women are screaming at the top of their lungs to the music, throwing whatever money they have at Mike and Chester (the server still has the panties on his head), who have pulled Talinda up on stage and oh wow it’s almost pornographic.

She’s sandwiched in between the two men, Chester in front and Mike behind her. Chester is making out with his wife with a hand underneath her shirt, presumably groping a breast, while Mike is grinding into her back, biting her neck. There’s almost no room between the three of them as they dance.

(Brad is slowly realizing that he might not be one hundred percent straight.)

With a hand still on Brad’s ear, Scott stomps over to Joe’s makeshift DJ stand and slams the laptop closed, flipping the lights on as well. His face is the same shade of red as a beet and if Brad looks closely, he can actually see steam coming out of Scott’s ears. A collective groan is made from the crowd as everyone turns to see who ruined the party.

(His pants are still around his ankles and lil’Brad is currently on display for all to see albeit no longer at attention. Brad has yet to decide if that’s a good thing or not.)

“EVERYBODY OUT!” Scott screams, spittle flying from his mouth. The crowd mutters loudly among themselves. They’re not ready to go, they want to stay.

So fate decides to intervene in the form of Dave and Rob. Rob tackles Scott, which causes him to lose his grip on Brad’s ear. He quickly puts lil’Brad back into his pants and grabs one of Scott’s kicking legs. Dave grabs the other while Rob has his torso. A quiet understanding is reached between the three of them. The crowd cheers as the trio carry Scott off. Someone turns the lights off again and Joe resumes spinning.

Scott is confused as to what’s happening until Elisa opens the door to the walk-in. Brad has never heard such language but he mentally bookmarks a few of the more interesting phrases that spew from Scott’s mouth.

(“I will bend you over and shove a pineapple up all your asses in front of your mothers.” is his favorite.)

They throw him in and Dave is quick to grab his honing steel and shove it in the lock of the walk-in, trapping Scott in the cooler. They high five each other and go join the party, with Rob taking his shirt off to give stripping a try.

Well, Dave and Rob join the party, Elisa drags Brad back to dry storage for some unfinished business. It was locked and deciding not to tempt fate again, they settle for doing it in the closet/office.

(Brad could’ve sworn he heard three distinct moans coming from dry storage as they hurried away.)

The women stumble out hours later, thanking Chester for a good time and even talk to Mike about buying out the diner once a month to recreate their strip/dance/diner club. (Apparently the debate group are members of a college club at one of the more expensive universities in town and this is only half of their members.) Mike is reluctant at first, but when one of them writes a fat check for their services, he changes his mind.

(And if Mike has two differently size hickeys on his neck that his collar is trying and failing miserably to hide, then Brad chooses to remain oblivious.)

They quickly reorganize things and turn it back into a regular dinner, welcoming customers like there wasn’t a makeshift strip club here less than an hour before.

Rick finds Scott when he comes in at five. The traumatized man’s skin is tinted blue and he runs out screaming “FUCK THIS PLACE I QUIT” and Rick just sighs. He had such high hopes too. _The Blackout Diner_  claims yet another victim.

(They had honestly forgotten about Scott, Brad is happy that the smug man didn’t die. Last thing he needs is an accidental death on his hands.)

Rick’s about to yell and fire all of them right then and there, but then Mike and Chester present all the cash thrown at them and the check they received and suddenly Rick is skipping into the closet/office. It’s an impressive stack of money that winds up coming to a few nights worth of profits, so as far as Rick is concerned, all is forgiven. He’s even okay with the club’s request to buyout the diner once a month.

And now Brad has to find a stripper outfit and learn how to dance. Elisa, (being the saint that she is) is more than happy to watch him practice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by my newest sous chef who think he’s God’s gift to kitchens and his smug face that makes you wanna punch him. How dare you eat a pizza in front of us without offering us any? If only we could do this. Also inspired by my senior year prank that went wrong. Yeah turns out when you make a Facebook group titled “Rave in the Library”, the teachers are gonna find out.


	10. Steakhouse vs. Diner: FIGHT!

Brad is getting sick of seeing Chester slap Mike’s ass every chance the server gets. Ever since they enacted the plan to get Scott to quit, the two sneak kisses whenever they can and if they disappear for twenty minutes every night with Mike walking funny the rest of the evening, no one else brings it up.

(Not that any of them WANT to bring it up. Brad hasn’t felt clean since he accidentally found a bottle of lube in the closet/office next to a pair of boxers with Mike’s initials on them.)

Apparently Talinda is okay with all of this. “She thinks Mike’s hot and thinks seeing us go at it is hot and I think the two of them fucking each other is hot, so we got this awesome open threesome poly-marriage thing going on.” Chester explains.

“And what if Mike finds someone else?” Brad asks. Chester just shrugs and responds with, “Then he finds someone else. He knows that Talinda and I come first and he respects that, so we’re okay with his choices. If he decides to stick with only her, T and I are okay with it, but he knows he’s more than welcome to bring a lady friend in as well. Besides, Talinda wants to explore her sexuality and if that means going down on another lady while Mike and I watch, who am I to stop her? Besides, the pregnancy is driving her hormones crazy so she’s horny all the time, so what we have gives me a break.”

(You know what? Fine. Fuck it. This is Brad’s new reality.)

Brad is dropping off a large order for a family of five (Dad gets the meatloaf, Mom orders the liver and onions, oldest daughter asks for chicken and waffles, middle daughter orders caesar salad, and youngest daughter gets chocolate chip pancakes despite Mom’s protests) when the front door is kicked in. Six people walk in and they do NOT look happy.

Their leader is an older man with rectangular glasses, dark hair that’s buzzed on the sides, and tattoos running up his arms. To his left are two pissed off looking girls. The shorter one has a pixie look to her, her long hair is dyed a cotton candy pink and she’d look adorable if Brad didn’t think she was ready to pull his balls off. The other girl is taller and blonde with a sleeve tattoo running up her right arm. The tallest member of the group is as tall as Rob and somehow has more tattoos covering his body than Chester and his hair is bleached so blonde it looks white. Next to him is a Caucasian guy who has an Eminem vibe to him, his hair is buzzed to nothing and only the edge of his jaw has some dark facial hair. He too has a tattoo on his right arm. The last member is African-American man with a baseball cap covering his dreadlocks and gold chain around his neck.

(Why does he feel like shit’s about to go down _again_?)

“Can I help you?” Mike asks. The leader points at the manager and asks if he’s the one in charge. Mike nods and the leader straightens his posture.

“I’m Ryan and these are my coworkers. That’s Kiiara and Julia,” he points at pinkie and blondie respectively, “behind me is Colson but we call him Kelly,” the tall guy nods his head in acknowledgment, “and to my right is Tak and Ryu,” he gestures to the dark skinned man and Eminem clone, “we’re the chefs at the steakhouse down the road, _Julien Kitchen_ , and you fuckers need to stop doing what you’re doing.” Mike looks confused.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” The pink haired girl, Kiiara, steps forward. She looks ready to cut a bitch and Brad is _really_ hoping he’s not the bitch.

“This place has always caused trouble but we’ve been able to deal with it.” She says “But lately you fuckers are letting things get out of hand and now it’s starting to affect business! No one wants to come to the area anymore! And it’s not just us, every store and restaurant in a three mile radius has seen a decline in profits over the past few months and it’s all your fault!”

“Hey it’s not our fault weird shit keeps happening here!” Chester complains. “You’re acting like we _want_ this bullshit to keep happening!”

“Yeah well last we heard, y’all are the ones who made this place a strip club.” Tak said. “This should be our busy season but because of ya’ll, we’re getting no business!” Ryan glared at Mike before saying,

“I opened _Julien Kitchen_ almost five years ago and have been running it ever since. I gave _everything_ to open it. I sold my house, I almost lost my marriage. And I _WILL NOT_ let some greasy ass diner ruin me! 

“Consider this a warning.” Ryu says while he, Kelly, and Tak start cracking their knuckles in an attempt to look tough (it’s working). “Any more funny shit goes down and things won’t get pretty.”

“Look we don’t want any trouble!” Brad says while holding up his hands. He really doesn’t, at this rate, all his hair will be gray from stress by the time it grows back. “Maybe we can come to an agreement?” Ryan shakes his head ‘no’.

“No agreement, just stay out of trouble or thing’ll get messy, understand?”

With that, the group leaves, but not before Kelly fake lunges at Brad, causing him to jump back in fear. The taller man slowly backs up to join his coworkers, his arms wide open and a crazy look in his eye that says, ‘Come at me bro!’

“God! What assholes!” Chester says when they leave. Mike turns on his heel and stares at Chester dead in the eye.

“I swear to God if you do ANYTHING to mess with them,  I’ll make sure you won’t get any sex from Talinda or I for a goddamn month.” Chester’s face is that of horror. Brad wouldn’t be shocked if he’s gone more than three days without sex since he lost his virginity. 

“My balls will burst Mikey! Why would you even consider that?! You love my balls!”

Brad decides to leave now before he learns anymore about their three way sex lives.

(The family, by the way, is not happy about being anywhere near this conversation. Two of the three daughters have plugged their ears trying to maintain some semblance of innocence while the oldest is listening intensely with a blush spreading across her face.)

Brad prays to every deity he can think of and looks some new ones up for good measure that nothing will come from this. His heart can’t handle more shenanigans, he just wants one boring month of work.

The gods must not be listening because only a day after the _Julien Kitchen_ crew made their threats, a phone call is made to the diner. Brad, of course, is the one who picks up.

“ _The Blackout Diner_ , this is Brad. How can I help you?”

“We warned you motherfuckers!” A voice he recognizes as Ryan’s shouts from the other end. “But you couldn’t leave us alone! I had fifteen pizza deliveries, nine flower arrangements, and five stripper grams show up at my restaurant an hour ago in the middle of service! Do you know how much money I had to pay to get them to go away?! THIS. MEANS. WAR!” With that, Ryan hangs up on him. Brad just lets a sigh out, he should’ve expected this.

 He calmly walks to the closet/office, where Mike is doing some paperwork. Gently knocking on the door frame to get his manager’s attention, he says,

 “I dunno what your boyfriend did,” Brad tells him, “but I think they guys at _Julien Kitchen_ just declared a prank war on us.”

 Mike slams his head repeatedly on the desk in frustration. “I fucking warned him…” he mutters.

 Chester insists that it wasn’t him. “Mike and Talinda teamed up and said if I did anything they’d tie me up and screw each other ten ways to Sunday in front of me and leave me out of it for a month! Why would I risk that?!”

 (No one believes him.)

  _Julien Kitchen_ gets their revenge a few days later. Poor Chester has been twitchy and jumps at every shadow, Brad thinks he’s actually going through sex withdrawal. It’s unfortunate that he’s the only one in the dining room when it happens.

 Chester’s just minding his own business and wrapping up some silverware when the front door is kicked in. The _Julien Kitchen_ crew runs in, armed to the teeth with paintball guns. Chester stands up with his hands up shouting “I DIDN'T DO IT!” They don’t even give him a chance to make a break for it before they start shooting the place up. Paint is splattered everywhere, between the six chefs they’re able to do quite a bit of damage. Lightbulbs are shattered, glasses explode, and a mind is broken.

 Chester gets hit full force with the paintballs and it seems like Kiiara and Julia take special aim towards lil’Chester because his crotch looks like a Jackson Pollock painting blew up down there. There’s a Chester shaped void in the wall left by the paint. Chester falls the the floor, defeated and clutching the bruised remains of lil’Chester.

 “ _JULIEN KITCHEN_ BITCHES!” Julia shouts before they all run out the door and pile into a waiting car, speeding off into the night.

Chester spends the rest of the night in the break room with ice on his crotch while the rest of them do their best to clean the paint. 

“They want a war?” Chester mutters to himself. Brad thinks he’s lost it, not that Chester ever really had _IT_ anyways. “I’ll give them a war…” 

The next day Chester drives be Julien Kitchen before the staff arrives and unleashes a car full of live chickens and four goats into the steakhouse. The goats have numbers painted on their sides, ‘One’, ‘Two’, ‘Three’, and ‘Five’. From what Brad hears, the restaurant is forced to close for the night cleaning up the chicken and goat shit and the staff spent two hours looking for a goat that had ‘Four’ painted on it before they realize they’ve been made fools of.

“How the hell did you get in without tripping any alarms?” Joe asks him later. Chester just gives the line cook a sly smile while putting a finger to his lips. “Sorry Joe, but if I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

(Brad is happy not knowing, the less he knows about Chester’s life the better.)

Two days later a canister falls down the grill vent while Joe is grilling a steak for an order of steak and eggs. A vile smelling smoke starts pouring out from the top of the canister. It smells like year old rotten eggs mixed with Rob’s old gym socks and fish sauce. Joe and Dave flee the kitchen as the smoke spreads throughout the kitchen.

“It’s in my eyes!” Dave says with tears in his eyes as he runs into a table, sending it and him to the ground. The foul smelling smoke spreads throughout the kitchen, sending workers and diner patrons into the streets in an attempt to escape the odor. Everyone is forced to wait almost an hour before the smoke dissipates and even then the smell lingers for the rest of the night, sending any potential customers running. Thankfully the fire alarm and sprinklers didn’t go off, Brad can’t handle another raining kitchen.

Mike is pissed to say the least. “Fine they wanna do things this way? Let’s fucking bring it then!” Chester feels so proud of his boyfriend/lover/threesome enthusiast.

“Look at him, plotting to take down another restaurant, I’m so proud of him.” He says with pride in his voice and wiping a fake tear from his eyes.

 “Don’t think that this means you’re getting any from Talinda or I for the rest of the month!” Mike warns.

“But I told you I didn’t do anything! C’mon babe, it’s been a week and a half, my dick feels like it’s ready to explode!”

(At this point everyone in the diner just plugs their ears and tries not to listen to the two of them argue if it’s possible for a person to die of sex deprivation.)

Three days later Mike hires some graffiti artists to spray paint the exterior of _Julien Kitchen_ right after the last of the staff leaves. From what they understand, Ryan threw a nearby trash can at the building when he saw his defaced restaurant, vowing revenge. The building was now covered top to bottom with giant penises. The detail was actually quite impressive.

“He modeled them after mine.” Chester tells Brad smugly. “Mike clearly misses me in the bed and this is his way of telling me.”

“He seems to be getting on fine without you Chili Pecker.” Brad retorts. It’s true, with the whole prank war going on, everyone has been on edge around Mike, half expecting him to bite them at any given moment. Instead, Mike is chill and in a great overall mood. Maybe all he really needed _WAS_ to get laid. “Who knows, maybe Talinda will leave you for Mike.”

“Nah, they love my dick too much for that.” 

“Dude I’m begging you, please stop telling us about your three way sex life.”

 “Feel free to talk about yours Braddles, maybe we can exchange sex tips! Did you know there’s this one spot right behind your balls-”

Brad doesn’t give him a chance to finish, the server runs faster than he’s ever run before. He probably broke some kind of Olympic sprinting record. Brad is _VERY_ happy with his current sex life and doesn’t need Chester’s advice.

Less than twenty-four hours after _Julien Kitchen_ is defaced with giant penises, _The Blackout Diner_ is struck by their retaliation. Brad has no idea where they found that many little people on such short notice, but they take up every seat in the diner and only order coffee for the entire night.

“We can’t legally kick them out, they’re technically ordering something.” Mike tells him. “But they refuse to leave so now we have to turn people away because _I guess_ anymore people and it’s a fucking fire hazard.”

Dave decides to take matters into his own hands and recruits Chester to help break into _Julien Kitchen_. (Brad is honestly shocked that there’s not one person guarding the place at all times with a shotgun at this point. At least get a guard dog or something. At least the diner is open twenty-four hours so it means _Julien Kitchen_ can't sneak in unnoticed.) That night, the duo clog all the drains and turn on all the water faucets, flooding the place. As an added bonus, they prop open the walk in cooler and freezer, ensuring that all their product will be ruined and have to be thrown out.

(It’s official: Brad must **_NEVER_** get on Dave’s bad side.)

The next day the _Julien Kitchen_ crew march into the diner, murder on their faces. Brad won’t admit it, but out of all of them, Kiiara scares him the most. If she had an AK-47 hidden in her hoodie and shot the place up right now, he wouldn’t be all that shocked. The steakhouse owner grabs Mike by his collar and pushes him up against a wall. Brad and Chester go to try and help him, but Kelly and Tak hold them back. Sensing that the shit is about to hit the fan, the few customers in the diner leave whatever cash they have on their tables and flee. They all know the drill by now.

“I had to throw away **_SIX GRAND_ ** in meat product alone because of your last stunt!” Ryan rages, spittle flying out of his mouth and landing on Mike’s face. “I should be opening with two hundred reservations a day but I haven’t had two hundred people come in this _week_! **_THIS ENDS NOW_**!” 

What follows next can only be described as an epic bar fight (without the bar) worthy of Hollywood. It’s just unfortunate that most of _The Blackout Diner_ crew are either twigs or slightly out of shape, with Chester and Rob being the most fit out of them, whereas the chefs of _Julien Kitchen_ are all well toned and probably meet up twice a week for mixed martial arts lessons if how they fight is anything to go by.

Which means Brad and his coworkers resort to dirty tricks.

(It also helps that this isn’t the first fight they’ve gotten into. Hell, if he remembers right, this either the third or fourth fist fight they’ve gotten into _this year_.)

Joe manages to weaponize the kosher salt, throwing it into Kelly’s eyes before lunging at the taller man, breaking the table they land on. Rob drags out the hose from the dishpit and sprays it to hold Ryu at bay while Dave hits the man over the head with a saucepan before the line cook goes after Tak. Chester throws himself onto Ryan’s back, freeing his boyfriend/lover/boss/bedmate, placing the chef into a chokehold, while Mike repeatedly punches the head chef in the face.

Brad finds himself facing off against Julia and Kiiara and he feels conflicted. On one hand, they’re trying their absolute best to gouge his eyes out and remove his balls, but on the other hand, he was raised to _never_ hit a girl unless she was into that kind of stuff. Thankfully Rob partially solves his problem by merely picking up Kiiara and hanging her by her belt hoop on a coat hook next to the door. (She’s not happy and starts cursing in a way that would make the devil blush.) Julia tackles Brad and pins him to the ground, so he grabs the nearest thing he can grab (his serving tray) and hits the edge of it over her head.

(Did he just see Joe fly through the air?)

“ ** _WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE_**?!” A loud voice shouts. Everyone stops what they’re doing. Chester’s still on Ryan’s back, Mike is in mid-punch. Tak has Dave in a headlock, Joe’s about to pour an order of hot soup over Kelly’s head, Brad is trying to get Julia off of him, and Rob has Ryu in his arms above his head about to drop the larger man. Kiiara’s belt loop finally gives way, dropping her to the floor with a loud ‘THUD’, followed by a soft “fuck”.

Rick is standing at the door, fuming. A police officer is standing next to him. He’s a middle aged African-American man with a New York Yankees hat on instead of a police hat. (That HAS to be violating some sort of police protocol.)

“You fucker’s better have a good explanation as to why I ran into Officer Carter while I was getting out of my car to check up on things.” Rick demands. Ryan breaks away from Mike’s grip and throws Chester off of him. He gestures to the diner employees and says,

“They started it! We’ve been losing business because of this place and they wouldn’t leave us alone!” Rick shoots a glare at Chester, suspecting that he has something to do with all this. 

“Why _the fuck_ does everyone assume I started this?!” Chester shouts in frustration. “Look through my phone, my emails, I swear on my children’s lives that I didn’t do it!” 

“The point is,” Rick says, still eyeing Chester, “that I have eyewitnesses who say that the workers of _Julien Kitchen_ started this fight. Now this can end one of two ways: either we call a truce and you leave, or I have Officer Carter here arrest you all for assault on my employees. And I think we all know that if that happens, it’ll be the end for your steakhouse. So, what’s it gonna be chef?”

Ryan glares at Rick, doing his damnedest to try and set the older man on fire with his mind. When that fails, he snaps his fingers. His employees release Brad and his coworkers and scurry off to stand next to him.

“This isn’t over old man,” Ryan threatens, “we WILL be back.”

“And I’ll have a team of lawyers who’ve been having lunch here everyday for the past fifteen years and are willing to take any case I give them for free you sonovabitch.” Rick shoots back. “Let’s see who’ll win that fight, shall we?”

The _Julien Kitchen_ team send their best glares to the diner gang before backing out of the door. 

A silence hangs in the air as Rick sends Officer Cater away. He leaves with a “Whatever y’all, I’m out” and Rick storms out after him, looking like he needs a drink before he comes back.

“Man,” Rob says, “I did not expect things to go like this when I sent those strippers, pizzas, and flowers.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by my high school rivalry. Things might not have gotten this far, but that doesn't mean we didn't try!


	11. The Prostitute Debacle

Brad hasn’t seen Mike, Talinda, or Chester in two days. After it became known that Rob was the starter of the prank war, Chester picked Mike up fireman style and carried him out of the diner at a breakneck speed, chanting “BedbedbedbE _DBEDBED **BEDBED**_.” Neither of the duo have been seen since, Mike has called out for the two of them every day since and apparently Chester straight up kidnapped Talinda from her shift at _Norman’s_. The trio were last seen driving off into the night with their car windows fogged up.

“Where’d ya think they are?” Rob asks him. Mike had been carried away before he could properly punish Rob, so as far as the dishwasher is concerned, he’s not fired. Brad just shrugs at his coworker. “I honestly don’t wanna think about it man.”

Poor Brad has been the only server since Chester and Mike vanished and it’s starting to wear on him. Not only does he have to run around to every table, but he also has to make time for expoing. He’s asked Rick for help, but apparently no one else is willing (or stupid) enough to volunteer for the overnight shift.

(These people are too smart for their own good.)

Thankfully, three days after the prank war ended, Chester and Mike limp into the diner. Poor Mike does his best to avoid sitting down while tending to his bruised wrists and Brad catches Chester shoving a bag of ice down the front of his pants.

“Turns out there IS such a thing as too much sex Braddles.” Chester tells him while wincing at the cold on his crotch. “We should’ve stopped yesterday.”

“Ohmygod please don’t.”

“But it’s been like two weeks without sex! I think we gave Ron Jeremy a run for his money.”

“Chester I’m begging you.”

“We had to get dildos involved when we couldn’t get it up anymore. Talinda even got to try out her new strap on that I got for her birthday.”

“OH MY GOD STOP!”

Brad has had enough and flees. He can’t bring himself to look either of the men in the eye for the rest of the night. He’s considering pouring bleach into his ears, if he’s lucky then it’ll reach his brain and clean his mind. Or kill him, he’s fine with both.

(He’s definitely not wondering which of them Talinda used the toy on. Nope.)

The night is uneventful (thank god) and they head to _Norman’s_ afterwards. Talinda, much like Chester and Mike, walks with a slight limp. She gives her husband and Mike a quick peck on the lips before resuming her job.

“So are you like, their boyfriend or something?” Joe asks Mike while they wait for their turn at the pool table. It’s him and Mike versus Dave and Rob. Chester’s off talking to his wife while Brad nurses a beer. Mike gives Joe’s question some thought before answering.

“Yeah, guess I am.” He says. “They even want me to move in with them. My lease is up in two weeks so I just might. But don’t get me wrong, I wanna settle down with someone one day, but I like what we have going. If I can find someone who’s okay with what I have right now, then all the better.”

A few minutes later while Mike’s lining up his shot a stay purse hits him over the head, causing him to hit the pool table, scattering the balls. Joe, Rob, and Dave make their displeasure known with loud complaints while Mike nearly joins them before he turns around and sees who knocked him over.

A pretty woman around his age with short brown hair in a pixie cut and a horrified face stands there. Her purse is still outstretched. And if Mike’s expression is anything to go by, all is forgiven in his eyes.

“Holy shit I’m so sorry!” She says. “Here, lemme buy you a drink.” She introduces herself as Anna and grabs Mikes hand and drags him to the bar. Joe and Dave make kissy faces at the overnight manager, who’s in too much shock to say anything.

When Brad heads home Mike is still at the bar, talking with Anna. Chester and Talinda are silently cheering for their lover on on the other side of the bar while Rob is helping Joe carry a drunken Dave home.

(“I nev’ want’d thi’ job ya kno? I appli’d ta a BUNCH a diff’rnt res-rest-food places. ‘N thi’ wuz th’ ONLY place tha didn’t need a fukin’ bak-backgr-look up ‘m past! N’t my fault I went at th’ guy wit a shovel, he slapped Lind’s butt!” “Dave can’t you just call an Uber?” “NO!”)

Brad goes home, has very enthusiastic sex with Elisa before they binge on Law & Order and ice cream. He kisses her before going to bed, with Loki curling up on his head when he lays in bed. Maybe things will return to normal now, he thinks.

( ** _HA_**!)

When he goes to work the next day Mike proudly shows off Anna’s number and excitedly tells anyone who’ll listen that they have a date in the morning. (“Sir, you’ve already told me about your date, I just want my food already, I’ve been waiting thirty minutes for pancakes!”) Chester celebrates by pulling him in for a kiss. Brad contemplated how long before everything goes wrong with that relationship, but Chester shushes him.

“Let Mikey have some fun Braddles! Besides, he’s so much easier to work with now that he’s getting laid!”

An hour after he arrives at work a chill goes down Brad’s spine as he walks away after taking an older couple’s order. There’s a disturbance in the force.

The disturbance takes the form of an attractive twenty-something woman walking in with an older man on her arm. She’s younger than Brad and her short brown hair is bleached platinum but the roots are showing. She has several tattoos but the most prominent is the rose on her left shoulder.

The man with her is at least ten years older than her. His long brown hair is in thick dreadlocks with a large beard to match and his arms are covered with tattoos

Brad mentally groans at the sight of the younger woman. It’s not the first time she’s been here, each time she’s with another man. She claims her name is Halsey and well, she’s a lady of the night to put it gently. Last time she was here with her client, Chester poured ice water over the two of them since they were getting hot and heavy in the middle of the dining room.

Halsey and her current client sit themselves in the far booth and wait for someone to come and take their order. Not wanting to deal with that bullshit, Brad tries to convince Chester to take the table.

Chester proves to be smarter that Brad gives him credit for and refuses.

“Fuck that Brad, that bitch is crazy. One time she ordered a steak medium rare and stabbed me in my side with a fork because she said it was medium.” Chester lifts his shirt to show off the scar. It’s on his left side and it’s mostly faded, but it’s definitely there. “Worst thing was that the steak WAS medium rare but one of the lights above her table was out so she thought it was over cooked. I got stabbed for nothing!”

“C’mon man I don’t wanna deal with this!”

“Tell ya what, I’ll Rock Paper Scissors you for it. Best two out of three wins?” Chester offers. Brad jumps at the chance, anything to get away from the crazy.

(The results are as followed: Brad 0, Chester 2. Brad demands best three out of five, only for Chester to beat him every time once again. The man has a gift it seems.)

“Enjoy the crazy table Brad!” Chester says before cackling and disappearing to the back. Brad mumbles curses under his breath before approaching Halsey’s table. She’s slyly grinning at the man and Brad tries to ignore her foot slowly rising up the mystery man’s leg and her toes ustart running across his crotch.

(Brad has to give the man some credit, the stony demeanor on his face doesn’t change at all.)

She doesn’t even have to look at the menu, she gets the same thing every time: steak and eggs, medium rare over easy eggs with a cup of black coffee. Her client (she called him Jonathan so he assumes that’s his name) orders the chicken parm with a beer and Brad feels an uneasiness in the air that’s almost palatable.

He drops the order off to Mike and brings the table their drinks and by now the two are having a heated discussion.

“You knew what I did for a living when we started dating so why is it freaking you out now?” She asks Jonathan. All Brad wants to do is drop off their drinks but Jonathan raises a hand at Brad before he can drop of the beverages, preventing him from leaving.

“I’m fine with what you do, but I know that you’re getting coke instead of money. I told you I don’t fuck with that.”

“I don’t do coke!”

“I literally walked in on you snorting a line off the toilet rim in the club last night but you were too wasted to realize it.”

Trying to get away, Brad offers to come back later, but the couple ignore him to his great displeasure.

“That was a one time thing Jonathan! Besides, you’re one to talk about drugs Mr. Pothead!” Halsey shoots back at her boyfriend. Jonathan rolls his eyes at her.

“Nice try, but I found your stash a few days ago. And there’s a HUGE difference between coke and pot!”

Fed up, Brad quickly drops the drinks to the table before they can say anything and makes a run for it. Halsey’s eyeing her knife and he doesn’t wanna get between her and her target. Besides, that knife is a butter knife, it probably hurts more than a sharp knife.

(Joe _did_ say “most dangerous knife is a dull knife Braddles” afterall.)

“YOU’RE BREAKING UP WITH ME?!” A shrill voice rings through the diner.

(It’s loud enough for both Dave and Joe to hear in the kitchen. “Rookie mistake,” Joe comments, “never break up with someone until after the meal is over or else you’ll both be eating together in awkward silence.” “Like _you’ve_ had any experience with dumping someone?” Dave jabs back.)

“WHY WOULD YOU BREAK UP WITH THIS?!” She shouts before Brad hears a loud clash of utensils falling to the floor. Acting against his better judgement, he pokes his head into the dining room to see what in Sam’s Hill is going on.

Jonathan is still sitting at the table, calmly drinking his beer. He’s got a bored expression on his face like he expected his girlfriend to react like this. Halsey on the other hand, is an entirely different story altogether now.

The younger woman is now standing on top of their table with her arms open wide. She’s as naked as the day she was born, her skimpy dress tossed haphazardly to the side. She’s twirling around on top of the table, showing off her (rather impressive) body to the diner patrons.

(The diner patrons are as followed: a tired mother and her two young boys fresh from the movie theater, she tries to cover their eyes but it’s not working, an elderly couple who’ve been married fifty years and stop by once a week, they both try and avert their eyes but keep sneaking glances, and a young college boy cramming for the finals who’s managed to spill his coffee all over his notes without realizing.)

A dollar bill in the shape of an airplane flies at Halsey and lands in her hair. To no one's surprise, Chester is off to the side with an armful of similar dollar airplanes and he’s taking aim with another.

“Wooo baby!” The server shouts as he throws a dollar plane at Halsey, “Shake whatcha mama gave ya sexy!”

Mike smacked his lover upside the head, sending the bills to the ground. “Don’t encourage her you moron!”

Halsey starts walking across the diner tables like they’re stepping stones in a river, not caring that her heels occasionally find themselves in people’s food.

“This motherfucker thinks he can break up with ME!” She shouts for all to hear, “I’m a goddamn twelve on the scale while his ass is a four and he thinks he can break up with THIS?!”

“Can and did sweetie,” Jonathan grinned from behind his beer bottle, “try to have your shit out of my place by tomorrow will ya?”

“It’s OUR place you asshat!”

“My name is the only one on the lease because you had no credit score and no proof of income. Sorry babe, but it’s mine.”

Brad actually sees a blood vessel pop in Halsey’s head at that little revelation. And right about now would be a good time to either call the cops or get out of the way of the feuding former couple.

(Both might be best.)

If looks could kill, then Halsey has not only killed Jonathan, but skinned him alive, made a blanket out of his skin a la Ramsay Bolton, jump roped with his intestines, and made his decapitated head give himself a blowjob. She’s removed both her earrings (the universal sign of ‘this bitch about to FUCK SHIT UP’) and both of her heels are off her feet. One heel is in one hand ready to go a stabbing, the other hand has a spoon and for some reason, _the spoon_ is the thing that scares Brad the most.

“FUCK YOU JONATHAN DAVIS!” She screams and jumps off the table like a Valkyrie going into battle.

Thankfully that’s when Officer Carter (when in the ever loving fuck did he get here, has he been watching the whole time?!) pulls out his taser and manages to get Halsey smack dab in the right nipple. The poor woman drops to the floor like a sack of potatoes and starts convulsing while trying to get insults out.

Everyone turns to face Officer Carter who’s just standing there like this ain’t no thang and he just shrugs. “I got ninety-nine problems in my life and I don’t need this bitch to be one of them.” He says as he cuffs Halsey. He pulls her to her feet and drags her to his cop car. She’s kicking and screaming the entire way, foam practically spewing from her mouth, obscenities flowing like Niagara Falls.

Everyone breathes a sigh of relief. The diners continue with their meals, with Mike quickly swooping in to replace the ones that Halsey had stepped in. Chester’s already on the phone with Rick, informing the older man as to why Officer Carter had to stop by the diner for the second time in less than a week.

Rob sheepishly steps into the dining room, grabbing Mike’s attention by tapping his shoulder.

“So Officer Carter took her away?” The dishwasher asks.

“Who Halsey? Yeah she’s gone. How’d you know about that anyway?”

“Saw that she was going nuts so I called the police and the sent Carter over. So am I still in trouble about the prank war?”

“Nah you’re good Robbie, I just wanted to see you sweat a little over this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the time a naked lady walked through traffic in front of my SO’s job. And how Anna meets Mike is basically how I met my SO! I still have that purse too!
> 
> And sorry for taking so long to update guys! February is one of those super busy months at my job that either makes or breaks you and I think it broke 40% of us. Oh, and don’t take what I write about Halsey here to heart, I actually love her and her music.


	12. Diner vs. Steakhouse vs. Celebrity: Electric Foodaloo!

Well apparently there’s a busy season and slow season in the restaurant world and everything Brad has been through thus far has been in the so-called ‘slow’ season. But as the Starks of Winterfell say, “Winter is coming” and with it, Brad learns, come the snowbirds.

As Mike explains to him, “Snowbirds are typically rich people who, rather than grow a pair and deal with winter like everyone else, pack their bags and head somewhere warm like they’re a flock of geese.”

(As to why these people choose to eat at the diner as opposed to somewhere else, no one knows. Chester suspects that Grandpa Art did some voodoo shit when he built the place to ensure that they’d always have at least _some_  business. Unfortunately he seemed to have forgotten to specify that he wanted _good_ business.)

The busy season begins with the Foodie Network’s Food & Wine Festival. All the big names from The Foodie Network gather in town and host special events. Pal Valestra hosts a _Cake Chief Bananza_ while Morgan Ramzi yells at poor young culinary students in his _Satan’s Restaurant_ event, and Allen Green discusses the science of food in his _Good Yums_ tent. And by the time many of the events are over, most of the surrounding restaurants are closed, forcing the rich people to seek culinary refuge at _The Blackout Diner_.

Poor Joe is heartbroken that he wasn’t able to get time off to enjoy the festivities. But Mike is forced to make the Korean chef work due to having no one else willing to cover Joe’s shift. As such, Joe has been giving Mike the silent treatment, only speaking to the manager if absolutely necessary.

(And the occasional insult too.)

“For the last time Joe, I wish I could’ve given you the time off but no one wants to work the night shift anymore!” Mike says after he catches Joe using a spoon to launch sour cream at him. “They’re starting to think we’re cursed or something!”

Joe flips Mike off before storming off to finish an order. Mike sighs but cheers up when Chester gives him a quick peck on the cheek before checking up on his table.

“So how are you and Anna doing?” Dave asks while making a salad. It’d been a few weeks since the first date and as far as they could tell, Mike was smitten. The man had come to work the night after their first date _skipping_  through the door, babbling about how Anna was perfect in every possible sense. Brad has seen some seriously messed of shit since he started working at the diner, but it was all nothing compared to seeing a giddy Mike Shinoda

Mike practically has hearts in his eyes as he answers Dave, “Things are great! I’m gonna take her out to an art show in a few days with Chester and Talinda. Lately I’ve been inviting them along on our dates so that when I tell her what the three of us have going on, she’ll be more receptive to it.”

(Brad still thinks all of this is a horrible idea that can only end with the new couple breaking up as soon as the news is broken to Anna and Mike taking it out on them.)

Brad hears the door open behind him and turns to greet the new customer only to stop dead in his tracks at who’s standing in the doorway.

Ryan and Kiiara from _Julien Kitchen_  glare him down and once again, it’s the petite Kiiara that scares Brad the most for some reason. Brad can’t explain it, but she always has murder in her eyes and could probably kill him and dispose of his body without anyone being the wiser.

“What’d’ya want Ryan?” Mike asks the chef. Ryan smirks at the manager, like he thinks he’s better than Mike. “I thought Rick made it clear what would happen if you started trouble again.”

“Well I was nearby and thought I’d check to see if this place had finally closed. Hafta say, I’m disappointed.”

A blob of strawberry ice cream nails Ryan on the side of the face, the dessert slowly slides down his face before melting onto his chef’s coat the finally landing on the floor with a loud ‘PLOP’. Everyone turns to see where the ice cream came from. Chester’s standing off to the side, doing his best to look innocent (it’s not working, the ice cream container he’s trying to hide behind his back may have something to do with it). The server is clearly bitter at being blamed for the prank war and the sex deprivation that came with it.

Kiiara lunges at Chester, who lets a high pitched squeal out before seeking shelter behind Mike. Ryan holds Kiiara back from seriously maiming Chester.

“I just wanted you asshats to know that _Julien Kitchen_  has survived your petty attempts to run us into the ground,” Ryan brags, “in fact, Kiiara and I were just at the Fest with the Best of Town event. And yet here you all are, slinging burgers and flipping pancakes. Only the truly desperate would eat and work here.”

(Brad hears Dave physically restraining Joe back in the kitchen, the Korean chef _hates_ it when people assume that he’s a mediocre cook simply because of where he works.)

The front door is kicked in again and who comes stumbling in, but none other than Brock Bianchi. The chef is a mess. His flame embroidered shirt is horribly stained, his wig is long gone, and he has ketchup in his facial hair. He takes a long gulp from paper brown encased bottle in his hands before pointing an accusatory finger at Brad.

“YOU!” He shouts at the server. “You ruined my life! My entire cooking empire is gone because of you! I lost all my sponsors, my shows, my cooking supply line, all of it down the drain because you couldn’t keep your goddamn mouth shut! I was supposed to host this whole stupid fucking Festival but that went down the drain too!”

“You’re the one who thought chugging vanilla extract would be a good idea!” Mike shouts at the former celebrity chef. He looks like he’s ready to find the shovel and finish what he started when they last met up.

“Looks like we’re not the only ones with a grudge against this hole in the wall.” Kiiara mutters to Ryan. Brock looks at the duo, happy to hear he’s not the only one who’s considering arson.

“What’d they do to you?”

“Prank war that nearly ran us out of business. Like they could ever do that. Food here sucks anyway.”

The door to the kitchen is kicked open so violently that it comes off one of its hinges. Joe is pissed and no amount of Dave trying to restrain him will keep him from quelling the rage in his heart.

(Dave is actually clinging desperately to Joe’s right foot in an attempt to slow the cook down. Joe ignores him and simply drags Dave along with him.)

“I AM A CHEF GODDAMNIT!” The young man shouts as he slowly makes his way to the naysayers. “AND I AM A GOOD CHEF! YES I WORK IN A DINER BUT MY FOOD IS ALWAYS ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY DELICIOUS AND I WOULD BET MY CAREER THAT I CAN COOK A BETTER DISH THAN _EITHER_  OF YOU!”

(It should be noted that Joe almost never loses his cool like this. The last time Brad saw him even remotely like this was when a customer sent his food back after taking half a bite, saying it was ‘inedible’. Even then, Joe wasn’t screaming like this.)

Ryan and Kiiara actually laugh at Joe’s claims. “You think you could a better dish than me?” He asks.

“Vanilla desperation over there could probably do better than you.” Kiiara adds. Brock takes offense to that claim.

“I’m sorry, which one of us had several cooking shows on the nation's third best cooking channel? Oh yeah, that’d be me! I bet I could out-cook both of you!”

“Now there’s an interesting thought.” A new voice says. Everyone turns to the front door where a tall older gentleman is standing with a film crew capturing everything. Standing just over six feet, the stranger has dark brown hair that goes to his mid neck in loose curls. Black framed glasses frame his face and a thin mustache with a bit of hair on the tip of his chin highlight his lips. Judging by his chef’s coat, Brad assumes the stranger is a chef, but he gives of the air of a rockstar instead.

All five of the chefs present have their mouths open in shock at the newcomer. (Chester tries to close Joe and Dave’s mouths, but they just keep falling open as soon as he removes his hands. He gives up after the third try.)

Rob (who emerged from the dishpit to see what the hell was going on this time) whispers to Mike, “Who’s the old guy?” Joe turns to face Rob so fast, Brad’s shocked that he didn’t break his neck.

“‘Who’s the old guy?’ ‘WHO’S THE OLD GUY?’ How can you NOT recognize him?! That’s Chris Cornell, owner of _Soundgarden_ , a three Michelin Star restaurant downtown! He was open less than a year before they gave him the stars. He’s the reason this city has become such a food city in the last few years!”

“Calm down Joe, at least wait until his pants are off before you start sucking his dick.” Chester teases.

(The only reason Joe doesn’t strangle Chester right now is because his idol is watching. That, and the cameras.)

“Always happy to meet a fan,” Chris says. Cameras are swarming the diner and Brad feels very self conscious about his appearance right now. His head’s no longer completely bald, but it’s growing in patchy and uneven and his outfit is covered in mystery food stains. Chris snaps his fingers, as if he’s come to a sudden realization.

“Now I recognize this place! You guys are the Diner Psychos!”

(Joe and Dave look like they’re ready to jump in front of train knowing that _Chris fucking Cornell_  knows them as ‘Chubby Samurai’ and ‘Angry Leprechaun’.)

Chester pushes all four chefs out of the way, stretching his hand out to Chris. “Chester Bennington, Crazy Tattoo Dude at your service. What’s with the cameras?” Chris accepts the handshake and explains,

“Netflix is doing a documentary series on Michelin Star chefs and they’re supposed to follow my every move. I haven’t had a moment to myself in three days.”

“Please don’t believe everything you’ve heard about us!” Mike shouts in the background to the cameras, “We swear we’re just a normal diner where weird stuff just happens to occur more frequently than usual, that’s all!” Chris just laughs at Mike’s pleas before addressing Ryan, Brock, and Joe.

“How about we settle this little argument with a dinner battle? I have a small tent set up for an event tomorrow and it’s fully stocked with all your culinary needs. Winner is gets bragging rights. How’s that sound?”

And that’s how they all wound up a few blocks away on the beach, cheering Joe on. Mike had wanted to stay behind, (“It’s season now, we can’t just _leave_!”) but Chester had simply picked the night manager up over his shoulders while Rob left a sign saying ‘On the beach competing in cooking contest, back by midnight’.

(Mike was less than pleased and Chester had to take him behind some boxes to calm him down. Brad tries not to think about what Chester could’ve done, but Mike’s hair was a mess when they returned.)

A small crowd has gathered under the small tent. Someone (Brad suspects Chester, but the young father will neither confirm or deny responsibility) called the news and now there’s two sets of cameras: one for Netflix, the other for the local news channel.

Dramatic music starts playing over the speakers and an middle aged man steps to the center of the stage. Dirty blonde hair covers his balding head while black rectangular glasses sit on his nose. He adjusts his bowtie before speaking to the growing crowd, “Good evening food lovers! I am Allan Green, host of shows such as _Good Yums_ , _Backstab Kitchen_ , and _Bronze Chef USA_ , and tonight, we are in for a _very_ special treat! We have three chefs willing to present their best dishes to prove amount themselves who’s culinary masterpiece outranks them all! Let’s meet our competitors!”

A spotlight shines down on Ryan (okay, how were they able to find a production team for all of this in such a short amount of time, it’s only been fifteen minutes since they left the diner??) who’s striking a tough guy pose. With his arms crossed, brow furrowed, he looks positively menacing.

“Our first chef is the owner and Chef de Cuisine of _Julien Kitchen_ , Ryan Shuck. He specializes in New American cuisine and is not afraid to take big risks in the kitchen. Let’s see if it’ll help him win today’s fight!”

The spotlight moves to Brock, who’s standing in his signature pose (leaning back, cheesy smile, finger guns pointing at the camera). He’s managed to find a bandana to hide his baldness, it’s clearly a sore spot for him.

“Next we have Brock Bianchi, former Foodie Network Star and former host of shows such as _Sliced_ , _Brock’s Market Challenge_ , and _America’s Raddest Diners_. He’s got a lot to prove here after what happened a few months ago when he was caught trying to get intoxicated on vanilla extract of all things. Can he rise from the ashes like the mighty phoenix? Let’s find out!”

The spotlight settles on Joe (“FUCK ‘EM UP JOE!” Chester shouts) who’s awkwardly standing there before shyly waving to the cameras.

“Finally we have our dark horse of the competition, Joe Hahn. Joe here is the night shift line cook at _The Blackout Diner_ , a local landmark offering a variety of classic diner dishes. And if he looks familiar, you’re not crazy! You probably saw him and his coworkers in the viral ‘Diner Psychos’ video! Does he have what it takes to be with the best? Only time - and food - will tell!”

Allen motions for all three of them to the front as he starts explaining the rules. “You all have one hour to prepare two dishes: an appetizer and a main course. You have access to an extensive pantry and a state of the art portable kitchen. When the clock runs out, present your dishes to Chris who will be our judge. Sound fair?” The three chefs nod and get into position to start running.

“Your time…. STARTS NOW!” Allen shouts, sending the three men running towards the pantry.

(Brock immediately trips and falls flat on his face.)

Joe grabs a small fish, watermelon, tomatoes, both red and yellow onions, carrots, celery, red pepper flakes, champagne vinegar, oil, garlic, parsley, thyme, white wine, yuzu juice, basil, burrata cheese, and arugula.

Ryan grabs a rack of lamb, eggplant, cherry tomatoes, scallops, corn, potatoes, baharat, oranges, thyme, baby zucchini, radishes, heavy cream, olive oil, garlic, chives, and ginger.

Brock grabs ground beef, smoked blue cheese, burger buns, flour, squid, paprika, garlic powder, onion powder, curry powder, tomatoes, bourbon, garlic, basil, lemons, lettuce, onions, prosciutto, eggs, canola oil, truffle oil, and tomatoes.

The chefs get to work with Allen providing commentary.

“Well it looks like Ryan plans on doing scallops as his appetizer and lamb as his entree. But first things first, if he wants to utilize those eggplants he needs to get them into the oven right now.”

“EAT A DICK RYAN!” Chester shouts. The chef pays him no mind, but Kiiara throws a shoe at Chester’s head.

(It wasn’t even _her_  shoe that she threw. As far as Brad can tell, everyone in attendance has all their shoes so _where the fuck_ did she get that shoe?!)

Ryan places two eggplants cut in half and scored into the oven before resuming his prep.

“Oooh now what have we here?” Allen coos as he races over to Joe. “Whatcha doing?”

“BEING AWESOME THAT'S WHAT!” Chester chimes in. Everyone collectively decides to ignore him. That is a mistake. You cannot silence Chester Charles Bennington, for doing so only makes his anger grow.

“Making a quick fish stock.” Joe says as he quickly throws the fish bones, diced carrots, yellow onions, celery, thyme, parsley, tomatoes, and a few bulbs of garlic into a hot pot with some oil. When the vegetables start getting some color, he pours some white wine into the pot before topping it off with water and bringing it to a simmer. Turning, he starts focusing in on his other dish components.

“Looks like Joe is going with some kind of fish soup with a watermelon tomato qsalad, an interesting choice. Let’s see what my former coworker is working on.” Allen flutters to Brock, who’s blending tomatoes in a blender before adding the purée to sauté pan filled with roasting onions and garlic.

“So from your ingredients I’m guessing you’re going with your ‘Bodacious Blue Burger’ and ‘Crazy Calamari’, am I right Brock?”

“Absolutely dude. Got my marinara sauce working for the calamari right now, it’s gonna be totally sweet dude.”

“Sounds great Brock. Chefs! Fifteen minutes have already passed, you have forty-five minutes remaining!”

(Brad has no idea what’s going on by the way.)

“Looks like Joe’s going in for the kill on this one.” Dave says with a smug smile. Brad and his fellow diner coworkers look confused, so the red haired man explains, “Joe has been working and fine tuning these dishes for the better part of a year now. Most high-end restaurants ask everyone applying for a sous chef position to present a meal of their creation as a sort of final test. Brock doesn’t stand a chance, so it’ll all be down to whether or not he can best Ryan.”

The chef in question was currently grilling his corn with the husks still on.

“Smart move on Ryan’s part,” Allen comments to the watching cameras, “as soon as you open the corn husks, the sugars start to crystallize. By grilling them with the husks still on, he’s ensuring that the corn won’t lose any of its natural sweetness.”

Joe had found some sort of plastic bag and had placed a thick slice of watermelon in it as well as some olive oil and some sort of juice before running and placing the bag in a large machine.

“Joe’s using the vacuum seal machine to take out all the air in the plastic bag.” Allen explains. “By doing so, the liquids in the bag, olive oil and yuzu juice, force themselves into the watermelon, compressing it and filling it with deliciousness. And compressing the watermelon firms it up as well, this should be tasty.”

A bright red flame erupts from a sauté pan on Brock’s station, sending the crowd into cheers.

“And we. Have. FIRE!” Allen cheers. “By those flames it looks like Brock’s making bourbon caramelized onions for his burger. Should be good!”

And on and on it goes. Someone does something flashy, Allen makes either a scientific or sassy remark, and Chester cheers or jeers depending upon who the focus is on.

Ryan purées his grilled corn with heavy cream until it’s silky smooth. He fries his cherry tomatoes as a quick way of removing their skins before sautéing it with some baby zucchini carefully placed around it.

Brock has tossed his calamari in a variety of spices before coating them in flour and frying them a beautiful golden brown with a small cup of yummy smelling marinara sauce. People watched in awe as he stuffed his burger patty with blue cheese before grilling it. They stared in wonder when he made his own aioli before adding in truffle oil, filling the small tent with the smell of truffles. Topping the burger with some crispy prosciutto, caramelized onions, lettuce and tomato, he sets the patty on a grilled bun with the truffle aioli spread on the buns, before placing his dishes in front of Chris.

Joe’s cut his tomatoes into large chunks and tossed them with watermelon cubes in a yuzu basil vinaigrette before plating them with arugula, burrata cheese, and thinly sliced red onions. He drizzles some basil oil to finish it off before putting the last touches on his entree. He’s seared the skin side of the fish filet, when he’s done he places the fish uncooked side down in a shallow bowl. Throwing some chopped garlic in the same pan he seared the fish in, he throws a handful of halved cherry tomatoes and a sprinkle of red pepper flakes before pouring the fish stock in. Ladling the soup over the fish, he too places his finished dishes in front of Chris.

“EAT SHIT IN HELL YOU TWO!” Chester shouts at the competition.

“Sir,” a rather large security guard says to Chester, “if you don’t take things down a notch I’m afraid I’m gonna have to ask you to leave. You’re at a fifteen, we need you at a four.”

“I WILL NOT BE SILENCED!” Chester screams back.

(Brad and his diner coworkers do the best to hide their embarrassment. It doesn’t work. “No, I’m not with him, I don’t even know him.” Mike tells the lady sitting next to him.)

It takes three men to carry Chester out. The younger man did give a valiant effort though, Brad has to admit.

One by one, Chris takes a few bites out of each dish, commenting or criticizing the respective chefs when he’s done.

(“Your calamari is over cooked and tastes like battered rubber bands, while your marinara sauce brings nothing but dishonor to your Italian heritage. You need to go to Italy and apologize.” Or, “So by searing only one side of the fish and letting the hot broth poach the other half, you’ve ended up with a perfectly cooked fish that still has beautifully crispy skin, well done.”)

It’s down to the wire between Ryan and Joe. Brock is clearly the undisputed loser (he’s not taking it very well) so everyone waits to hear Chris’ final decision.

The tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife. The silence is deafening, with only Chester’s occasional attempts to escape the security guards the only sound that breaks the silence.

(Mike is gripping poor Rob’s hand so tightly Brad thinks he hears something crunch.)

Finally, Chris turns to Ryan. “Ryan, your dish was amazing. Every aspect of it was near perfect. You’ve made _Julien Kitchen_ proud.” Ryan beamed at the praise before thanking Chris and shooting a smug smile to Joe and the rest of the diner workers. Turning to Joe, Chris says,

“Joe, your dish was phenomenal and showed great care as well as ingenuity. How you only work the line at a diner baffles me.” Joe is grinning from ear to ear, he may pass out from happiness. He can barely get the “Thank you chef” out amidst all of the stuttering. Chris turns to Brock, a frown replacing the smile that had greeted the other two competitors.

“Honestly Brock, I have no idea how you managed to convince the people at The Foodie Network to let you teach people how to cook. You need to go door-to-door to everyone who watched your shows and apologize to them. Your calamari was over cooked and you marinara sauce was incredibly bland. Your burger had way too many contrasting flavors. Blue cheese, prosciutto, and truffle are all very strong on their own, and when combined together it’s just too much.”

Brock hangs his head in shame, his bandana falling off his head, adding insult to injury.

“Unfortunately, there can be only one winner. So it is my great pleasure to announce that the winner is…”

Everyone seems to be holding their breath. Dave has his hand over Rob’s mouth to prevent the dishwasher from crying out in pain. Mike’s squeezing the college student’s hand so hard that Brad is surprised that a finger hasn’t popped clean off. The quiet seems to go on forever.

“GET ON WITH IT ALREADY!” Chester’s cry breaks the stillness, He’s somehow managed to escape and evade security, while somehow removing his shirt, because why not?

The largest security guard tackles Chester before he and another four escort the loud server out from the tent. “VIVA LA _BLACKOUT DINER_  BITCHES!!!!” He bellows like proud warrior going down with a fight.

(“We’ve never seen him before in our lives, but he seems to be from the psychiatric hospital.” Dave tells anyone who asks if they’re with him.)

“As I was saying,” Chris resumes with a smile, “the winner of our chef battle royale is… JOSEPH HAHN!”

Everything happens at once. Ryan flips a table over and storms out, Kiiara lets a screech worry of a banshee out before following her boss, Brad and his coworkers storm the stage, cameras surround Joe, Joe faints, someone turns on disco lights, it’s a lot to take in really.

(When Joe wakes up and sees that Chris Cornell is standing less than a foot away from his face, he passes out again.)

When Joe is finally able to stay conscious, Chris congratulates him and shakes his hand. “You’ve got a real gift Joe,” he tells him, “if you ever want a job, _Soundgarden’s_  doors are wide open.” Joe looks like he just stuck his finger in an electrical socket.

“Thank you chef,” Joe says, not once letting go of Chris’ hand, “I’ll make sure to to stop by, but I still have so much to learn and perfect. So I’ll stick with the diner and when I’m ready, I’ll stop by.”

Chris manages to pry his hand from Joe’s grip and quickly dashes off after saying a quick goodbye, the chef clearly wants to try and lose the Netflix film crew and get some much needed alone time.

Brad, Dave, Rob, and Mike crowd around Joe, congratulating him on a job well done. Just when Rob decides to turn around and look for some kind of medical tent for his crushed hand, a white blur passes in front of them.

A naked Chester is running almost too fast to get a clear view, but sadly ‘almost’ and ‘is’ are not the same thing. He’s quickly outmaneuvering all the security guards trying to catch him and he’s somehow been able to write ‘Eat at _The Blackout Diner_ ’ on his bare ass like some sort of perverted advertisement.

The five of them sigh before they silently ‘Rock, Paper, Scissor’ for who has to stop Chester.

(Mike: Rock, Dave: Rock, Joe: Rock, Rob: Rock, Brad: Scissors.)

_Fuck_.


	13. The Truth Comes Out

With Joe’s well-publicized win over both Brock Bianchi and Ryan Shuck, the diner is busier than ever. There’s almost always a line going out the door during Joe’s shift, people are coming from not only the state, but from across the country to see the diner line cook who has the approval of Chris Cornell.

(The other day Brad sat a couple from Wales who were on a ‘culinary pilgrimage across America’ and after dinner demanded to shake hands with Joe.)

Joe can’t handle his newfound fame very well, finding himself stuttering and almost fainting when he meets his fans. Chester is jealous to say the least, the young father seems to always want to be the center of attention.

(The fact that Chester’s the youngest of four might have something to do with that.)

Brad can’t complain really, with all the sudden popularity, he’s been bringing in thick stacks of dollar bills home. Elisa likes to joke that he makes as much in tips as a stripper, then reminds him he needs to work on his stripping routine for the monthly strip club.

(Yes those still happen. He tries to stay on the sidelines and deliver drinks, but Mike insists that they all take turns, the bastard.)

By now Mike has been dating Anna for almost two months, and yet has STILL not told the poor girl the truth behind his relationship with the Benningtons. Even _Chester_  is starting to steer Mike into telling the poor girl the truth.

“I kinda figured it’d be a short term thing,” Chester explains to Brad later, “I thought it’d last a month at the most, then they’d break up, end of story. No need to tell the truth if it wasn’t gonna last. But he’s taking it really seriously and the longer this goes on the more it’ll hurt Anna. And none of us want that, Tal has really taking a liking to her. But the two of us have laid down an ultimatum for Mike: he gets nothing from us until he tells her the truth. It’s been almost three weeks and I give it another week at the most before he goes into some serious Bennington withdrawals and gives in”

“I’m just waiting for the right time.” Mike claims, but it’s the same excuse for the past two months. Every time one of them tells him that he needs to tell Anna the truth, he says that he will soon he just needs to find a good moment. A betting pool has been set with the odds on when the truth comes out as the goal. The pot is up to a grand so far. Brad has a good hundred or so in the next five days with Anna discovering on her own instead of Mike confessing. Even Elisa has money on Mike fessing up on the twentieth.

(“This can only end in pain for all of us.” Dave predicts. And well, he’s probably right.)

It all falls apart for Mike one day after Brad predicted. (“Godfuckingdammit this couldn’t have happened _yesterday_?!” “I outta take you to Vegas Brad and just spend the night just betting the opposite of what you bet on, I’d make a goddamn fortune.” “Fuck you Rob.”)

It’s a rare calm night. The last customer left less than ten minutes before Anna enters the diner. Her face is that of sadness, anger, hurt, and uncertainty. Joe happens to see her walk in and rushes to the breakroom to make popcorn, citing, “this is either gonna be really good, or really bad, either way it’s free entertainment for us.”

“Mike,” she says, “we need to talk.” You can actually see Mike’s asshole clench shut. She doesn’t need to say anything, her tone says it all. And right now her tone is saying “you fucking bastard I know the truth, I’ll give you a five second head start before I play jump rope with your spinal column.”

(Chester wisely decides to hide in dry storage for the time being. It’s the smartest thing Brad has ever seen the server do.)

Mike offers to go to the closet/office so they can talk in private (probably not a good idea, he’ll want witnesses for the police report) but Anna refuses.

“I know Mike.” Anna says. Mike is sweating bullets and tries to act stupid and if he were a better person, Brad might actually feel bad for Mike. But then he remembers that he’s been telling Mike all along that this was gonna bite him in the ass, so he just watches from the kitchen and eats the popcorn when Joe offers it to him.

“What’re you talking about babe?” Mike asks.

(“Holy fuck we need to invite him to poker night, we’d make a killing off of him, he has NO poker face at all.” “What the hell is with all the gambling talk Rob?” “I have to pay my student loans off _somehow_ , now pass me the popcorn.”)

“I know about you and the Benningtons.” Anna announces, “How could you do this to me Mike? Cheating on me with not just one person, but a _married couple_?! How does that even work? Do they know that you’re sleeping with the both of them or are you fucking them behind each other’s back too? Is that baby even Chester’s or did you manage to knock her up without him knowing?”

Mike looks like a kicked puppy and honestly, the general consensus is that he deserves it.

“Look, I can explain.” Mike starts. Anna gestures with her hands for the manager to continue. He takes a deep breath before explaining everything. “I’m kinda in a polyamorous relationship with Chester and Talinda. It started shortly before I met you. I care a lot about them, I even love them like you would a boyfriend or girlfriend. But then I met you and I was just amazed at what an incredible woman you were. And I guess some part of me thought that I could have all of you. That if I tried to keep your mind open and quietly influence you to being potentially accepting of the situation, that maybe one day you’d be able to join what we have. I was stupid and selfish and worst of all, I hurt you. I never wanted that Anna. I love you and I hope you can forgive me.”

There’s a silence throughout the diner as they all await to hear Anna’s response. The only noise that occasionally breaks the quiet is someone’s hand reaching into the bag for more popcorn.

Finally, Anna sighs before answering, “I’m really hurt Mike, and I was raised to respect myself, and how can I do that if you couldn’t even respect me enough to be honest with me? I liked you Mike, like, a lot, but I don’t know if I can forgive you for this. Because no matter how you may put it, I still see it as being cheated on. I need some time to think, but I think for now it’d be best if we took some time apart.”

And with that, she turns on her heel before walking out of the diner, potentially out of Mike’s life forever. Mike’s shoulders are slumped over in a defeated pose, his head hanging low. Chester, seeming to sense that things went south, emerges from his hiding spot to comfort his boss/lover/boytoy. To Chester’s heartbreak, Mike shoves him away and locks himself in the closet/office for the rest of the shift.

For the next week, Mike’s misery is felt throughout the diner. He locks himself in the closet/office on most nights, and when he does emerge a cloud hangs over his head. His usually pressed outfit is wrinkly and collects stains. His hair which is normally gelled back with not a hair out of place now lies limply in his eyes. It looks like he can’t even work up the will to even take a shower.

“I’m really worried guys.” Talinda tells them one night as they sit at the counter at _Norman’s_. “He barely eats or comes out of his room. I think he's actually going through a depressive phase right now. And I mean, like a full blown, prescriptions and psychiatrists, depression.”

“He won’t even talk to us.” Chester adds. “He hasn’t said a word to either me or Talinda since Anna and it’s breaking me up inside.”

“You guys _were_  kinda the reason behind all of this.” Rob chimes in before Chester shoots him a glare that sends chills down the dishwasher’s spine.

“As soon as Tal and I realized just how serious things were between Mike and Anna, we put a pause between the three of us. Tal and I made it clear to him we would _not_ be the other man or woman, and that Anna didn’t deserve to be the other woman either. Mike thought that he could have his cake and eat it too unfortunately. But now he won’t even look at us and I don’t know what to do guys.”

(Brad thinks he actually sees a few tears from Chester and he internally groans because _goddamnit now he’s gotta do something about this_.)

So a week after Anna broke things off, Brad decides that enough is enough and manages to get Anna’s address from Talinda. He’s fighting every inch of himself that’s saying ‘he deserves it you told him it’d backfire’ because as much as he hates to admit it, Mike is his friend now and he can’t see the night manager spiral deeper into depression anymore.

When Anna opens the door to her apartment, he’s greeted by two things: a groan of displeasure from Anna, and the scent of what must be a few hundred flowers.

“I figured it’d be a matter of time before you came here too,” she says with a sigh, “c’mon in.”

Apparently, he’s the fourth of his coworkers to stop by in the last twelve hours and try to plead with her to take Mike back. (Rob, Dave, and Joe beat him to it in that order). Her apartment is small, but every spare flat surface is covered in intricate floral displays presumably sent by Mike in a vain attempt to woo her back into his life.

“I’m just gonna tell you what I told the others.” Anna says. She’s clearly refined this speech by now and is done with _The Blackout Diner_  employees trying to meddle in her love life. “I need time to think. Whether he meant to or not, Mike hurt me. This isn’t something I can just take lightly. Not to mention the fact that he thought he could just throw me into what he and the Benningtons had and think I’d be okay with it? Did he even consider how I might feel about it? Yes, I’m pansexual and I think that the Bennington’s are beautiful people that exude sex but that doesn’t mean you can just ASSUME that I’m okay with entering a polyamorous relationship without asking me!” She’s out of breath when she’s done, a startled look on her face at the realization that she’s ‘out’ herself to Brad.

(It’s a lot for Brad to take in really. He’ll have to look up what ‘pansexual’ is when he’s alone.)

“Look, you don’t have to get back together with him,” Brad tells her. “If we’re being honest, I’ve been telling him since day one that he needed to tell you. But can you at least talk to him? I don’t think he’s showered since you dumped him and I think it’s starting to affect business.”

(They’ve lined the closet/office with scented candles as a preventative measure for the body odor. Adele is almost always heard being played on the other side of the door with Mike singing along through his tears.)

Anna rolls her eyes. “Well at least you seem to have the most sense out of the rest of your friends. Just gimme a few more days to sort my thoughts out and we’ll see where it goes from there. I’m not making any promises though.”

Brad takes it, it’s better than nothing at this point.

As he’s descending the stairs exiting the apartment complex, two familiar people work their way up, presumably to talk to Anna as well. Brad pales. Anna most _definitely_  will not to see either Chester or Talinda. Stretching his arms to block their path, he feels vaguely like Gandalf.

(You. Shall. Not. PASS! Heh.)

“Oh hell no!” Brad says when they make eye contact. “Anna has already had me, Rob, Dave, and Joe try and sway her, she doesn’t need anyone else. And I’m pretty sure that you two at the _last_ people she wants to see right now.”

“Relax Braddles,” Chester says with a smile before picking the other server up and tossing him over his shoulders while quickly walking down the stairs, “we know what we’re doing. Now why don’t you just relax over here while the grown-ups take care of business?” Chester plops him next to his car (FINALLY able to get the damn thing back) before pulling a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and cuffing him to the passenger door.

(Why the **_FUCK_**  did he have those?!)

“And since we don’t want you to cause a fuss, I’ll be taking these,” Chester says before swiping both his keys and phone from Brad, “and be leaving you with this!” Quickly taking his belt off his slender hips, he fastens it around Brad’s head as a makeshift gag. “Now we may be back soon but if all goes to plan we may not be back fo a while! So just try and relax in the meantime!” With a quick pat on Brad’s head, Chester turns around and skips up the stairs.

(How does he always wind up in situations like this? Fuck, he has to pee.)

An hour and a half later Chester and Talinda make their way down the stairs. By now poor Brad’s bladder feels like it’s about to explode.

“Everything’s taken care of Braddles!” Chester tells him with a smile and if he wasn’t about to piss his pants like a toddler he’d question when the couple did. But as soon as the cuffs are unlocked, he races behind a tree and has a near religious experience while relieving himself.

By the time he returns Chester and Talinda are gone, leaving him wondering just what the hell they did to Anna and what Chester meant by “everything’s taken care of”. At least Chester left Brad’s keys and phone behind.

The next night is just a repeat of the past week. Mike locks himself in the closet/office while blasting Adele and the rest of them try and run a diner without a manager.

(“I ordered my daughter’s spaghetti _chopped_ so why is it all still normal length? I wanna speak to your manager!” “Lady you have a fork and knife, you cut the spaghetti. Besides, your daughter doesn’t seem to mind.”)

The good news is that Chester managed to tackle the moping manager before he left their shared house and throw him in a waiting bathtub, clothes and all, so at least Mike is clean now.

There’s a handful of customers eating in the dining room when Anna sheepishly walks in and asks to speak to Mike. (And by the scarf she’s wearing with THIS weather, Brad has a fairly good idea as to what the Bennington’s did. God fucking damnit.)

Chester practically throws Mike at Anna before corralling the rest of the employees into the kitchen to watch everything unfold.

(Joe already has popcorn ready.)

Anna can’t seem to make eye contact with Mike, her shoes seem too interesting. Mike is in the same position, his hand keeps nervously going through his hair. Finally summoning whatever courage he has left, Mike squeaks out,

“Hey.” Anna barely looks up before letting a small ‘Hey’ out as well.

“I’m sorry Anna. Can you ever forgive me?” Mike asks. Brad grabs a fistful of popcorn before shoving it as ungracefully as possible into his mouth. Everyone is on the edge of their seats, waiting to hear Anna’s response.

“It’s gonna take some time,” she says, “but maybe we can talk things over some coffee in the morning?”

A large grin breaks out across Mike’s face before he starts laughing and picks her up and twirls her around high above his head. He spins her so fast that her scarf falls off.

(“Holy shit put me down! I SAID PUT ME DOWN!”)

When Mike finally listens to her he has his famous Shinoda Grin (™). It’s the happiest Brad has ever seen Mike and quite frankly it’s starting to scare Brad.

“What made you change your mind?” Mike asks. A dark red blush spreads across her face and Brad wouldn’t be surprised if her entire body is covered in it. She looks like a cute embarrassed tomato. Biting her lip she says,

“The Bennington’s can be _very_  persuasive.”

And that’s when everyone in the diner notices that her neck is absolutely covered in love bites of varying sizes.


	14. Dave Farrell: Serial Killer?

Over the past few weeks there has been a growing unease throughout the city. A killer is on the loose. The press has dubbed them, “The Phoenix Killer” due to all the victims being burned to nothingness. Only bone fragments and ashes remain, making identification of the victims nearly impossible. At least four people have fallen victim, leaving everyone within the city limits on edge.

Everyone has taken to traveling in either pairs or large groups. Mike and Chester escort Talinda to work (not that she’ll be going to work much longer, in two weeks she goes on maternity leave), while Mike also finds time to walk Anna to her night shift at the local newspaper. Brad walks Elisa to work when he gets home, the picks her up when she gets off.

The two televisions in the main dining room are permanently tuned to the local news in some hopes of new information or suspects, but nothing ever seems to come up.

Oddly enough, one of them is excited about all of this.

“This is so cool!” Dave says as he flips through the newspaper, reading all that he can about the investigation. “We’re right in the middle of an active serial killer investigation! Wonder if the FBI is gonna get involved?”

“People are dead Dave.” Joe reminds him, somewhat shocked that he has to remind his fellow line cook of that little tidbit.

“Yes and I feel bad for the victims and their families but c’mon man!”

(Everyone takes two very LARGE steps away from Dave.)

Day after day goes by with no new leads on who is responsible. That doesn’t stop Dave from sharing his speculations with anyone with working ears.

“I think whoever’s behind this is burning the bodies on tires.” He tells Brad while fetching his food from the break room. Brad _was_ enjoying the pasta bolognese that Elisa had made for him, but now the sight of the meaty pasta sends his stomach rolling.

“Dave please-”

“I mean tires burn hot as a crematorium and they’re really hard to put out. One time lightning struck this old tire dump in the 90’s and it burned for a goddamn month! Why’d think _The Simpsons_ has a tire fire in the opening credits?” Brad rubs his fingers against his temples in frustration. Ever since the case went public, Dave won’t stop fucking playing CSI agent and it’s getting on his last nerves.

“Why’dya even care about the investigation?” Mike asks. Dave gets a far-away misty eye look before answering very seriously,

“All I wanted to be as a kid was a forensic scientist. Every Christmas or birthday present was something forensic related and I have every episode of _CSI, CSI:NY, CSI: MIAMI, Criminal Minds, Forensic Files, New Detectives_ , and _FBI Files_ on my computer. _In_ _vestigation Discovery_ is my favorite channel and every summer I took a camp course in forensics.” A tear is shed. “But that all changed when I tried to go to college. I suffered a quarter life crisis and dropped out, my dreams ruined forever, reducing me to a mere line cook.”

(Brad actually feels sorry for Dave, at least he actually completed his law degree. Still hasn’t been hired, but at least that part of his dream has be successful.)

Dave’s antics have an unexpected side effect: Chester has been staying as far away from the line cook as he can.

(Well shit if that’s all it takes then Brad needs to study up on forensics.)

“I’m telling you guys, Dave’s been really suspicious ever since the news broke about the killer.” Chester tells them all later at _Norman’s_ while Dave is getting their order. Crouching low, the server whispers, “I think Dave is the killer!”

Mike’s head slams against the table at his coworker/boyfriend/topper’s suggestion. Everyone else’s palm slap against their foreheads in disbelief.

“That has to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever said Chester, and last week you told me women pee out of their vagina’s.” Rob says. “He just _really_ likes forensics and is weirdly excited about the case, that’s all.” Chester rolls his eyes at the younger college student.

“Dave once fainted when he saw a guy cut a live lobster in half in culinary school.” Joe adds. Chester stands up, fed up with being ridiculed.

“You guys can laugh at me all you want,” (“We already do!!”) “but mark my words, Dave is _too_ invested in this and knows too much. You’ll see! You’ll all see!”

It’s then that Dave appears behind Chester seemingly out of nowhere with a tray of drinks. “We’ll all see what?” He asks. Chester just grabs his drink before running off to hide behind the bar next to his wife. “What’s up with him now?”

(They decide against telling Dave about Chester’s claims. They’re stupid and unfounded, but Dave has a temper. Several metal bowls at the diner have dents in them due to the line cook’s short temper. It’s for Chester’s safety at this point.)

Later while Dave is off in the bathroom, Anna joins them. She gives Mike, Chester, and Talinda a quick peck before sitting down.

(And yes, apparently the threesome has become a foursome. Brad refuses to admit he’s jealous. Honestly, he’s not.)

“Guess what guys!” She says after downing a shot of tequila. “We got an inside tip from the police about the killer! They let it slip that they think whoever’s doing this is burning the bodies inside tires. Apparently they found another body but they were able to put the fire out.”

Brad and his coworkers all look at each other in silent shock. Well, _almost_ everyone.

“I told you!” Chester shouts, starling Anna. Brad tells her Chester’s belief that Dave’s the killer and she laughs.

“Doesn’t he foster shelter animals in his spare time?” She asks.

(He does. He seems to have a new animal every other week. This time it’s a mother cat and her newborn kittens. Apparently Bella loves all of the animals Dave brings by.)

“That means nothing!” Chester proclaims. “It could all be an elaborate lie to make it seem like he’s perfectly normal! After all, what do all the neighbors say about every psycho? ‘He was so normal!’” The last sentence is said with Chester attempting to do his best old lady voice, but he just sounds like he’s constipated.

“It _is_ a bit weird.” Joe admits, causing Chester to gesture wildly towards Joe and lets a loud ‘AHA’ out. “I mean, what’re the odds that the killer does the same thing that Dave was speculating earlier?”

“I had such high hopes for you Joe.” Mike says as he finishes his beer.

“Hey you don’t know Dave like I do!” Joe shoots back. “I stand next to the fucker eight hours a day six days a week. The man is off. Last week he told me that if I ever had to get rid of a body _for whatever fucking reason_ to not use a wood chipper because apparently police can just look into your financials and see you rented one. And yesterday he told me about Albert Fish. Do any of you know who he is?” Going by their blank stares, none of them know who Joe’s talking about. “Well be glad you don’t. But I had to listen to Dave talk about that sicko for over _two hours_. And the whole time, Dave was _smiling_! Who smiles talking about a cannibalistic kid killer?”

“Oh Albert Fish!” Dave says with a smile. Rob falls out of his chair in shock, no one heard or saw the redhead walk up behind Rob. “He’s easily the most twisted serial killer I’ve ever read about. He used to-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Brad says as Mike slaps his hand over Dave’s mouth to silence him.

“New rule, no serial killer talk, okay?” Mike says before removing his hand from Dave’s mouth.

Later that day the news breaks that Anna’s tip was right. Dave is practically prancing around the diner later that night, over the moon that his hypothesis was correct.

“I knew it! I can’t believe I was right!”

“WE GET IT ALREADY!” Mike shouts at him, trying to get him to stop. (It doesn’t work.)

“The killer is probably gonna change his MO now that everyone knows.” Dave tells Brad in the break room. (Brad didn’t even ask, he just wants to eat his food in peace but Dave seems to not want that for some reason.) “It happened with the Atlanta Child Killer case, it’ll make things harder for the investigators.”

“Please let me eat.” Thankfully Brad is save by Chester shouting at the top of his lungs,

_**“BRAD GET OVER HERE!”** _

(Chester’s so loud, they probably heard him over at _Julien Kitchen_.)

Brad races over to the shouting origin, concerned that something might actually be wrong. Instead he finds Chester, Mike, Joe, and Rob crowded around one of the televisions. Mike and Rob’s jaws are so open that they might as well be hitting the floor, Joe looks like he’s about to puke, and Chester has an accusatory finger pointed at the television and a smug smile on his face.

There, broadcasted for the entire country to see is a sketch of a man who is the spitting image of one David Farrell. The caption under it reads, **‘Police Rough Sketch of Phoenix Killer Released’** and Brad just about shits himself in both fear and disbelief.

“I told you so!” Chester jeers, his finger still pointing at the television. “You fuckers laughed at me, we’ll look who’s laughing now!”

“There has to be a logical explanation.” Rob tries to reason. Good ol’ Rob, the most sane of all of Brad’s coworkers. (And secretly his favorite.) “You know eyewitnesses can be unreliable. I read about it in my Criminal Justice class. Maybe someone just saw him around the area before they found the body.”

“I hear people have seven doppelgängers or more running around.” Mike adds, but he sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself more than the others. “Maybe this is Dave’s doppelgänger. I mean for all we know he has an evil twin!”

“Or maybe, now hear me out babe,” Chester says to Mike like he’s trying to talk to an idiot, “maybe, juuust maybe, DAVE IS A SERIAL KILLER!”

“Dave’s a what now?” Dave asks as he pops up from behind the counter. (Okay, they need to put a goddamn bell on this guy, Brad is gonna have a heart attack before he hits thirty at this rate.)

Chester and Joe let a high pitch squeal out before running to the back. Mike gets shifty eyed and makes up a bad excuse to lock himself in the closet/office (“I need to uh… go… um… look at porn!”) Rob claims he needs to go wash dishes even they they all know damn well they haven’t had a customer in the past thirty minutes.

Brad is the last one facing Dave and honestly? His fight or flight instinct is kicking in and it’s screaming “RUN BITCH, FUCKING RUN!”

“What’s up with them?” Dave asks Brad.

(Brad sees his life flash before his eyes and it’s just as awkward and disappointing the second time around.)

“Drugs!” Brad says before scurrying off to hide in dry storage, leaving Dave more confused than he’s ever been in his life.

After work they meet up at _Norman’s_ like usual, except for Dave who opts to head home instead. Now the teams are Team Killer (Chester and Joe), Team Logic (Brad), and Team On The Fence (Mike and Rob).

“The evidence is clear,” Chester says as if he’s a general at war planning an attack, “Dave is the Phoenix Killer and we as upstanding citizens must turn him in!” Brad looks at the fellow server skeptically.

(Time for his lawyer skillz to shine.)

“Okay, first of all, ‘upstanding citizens’? May I remind you of The Maple Syrup Incident, The Vanilla Extract Fiasco, and Hurricane Debbie? So far Joe is the best behaved out of all of us but you’re on thin fucking ice dude. Second, what evidence? You have Dave theorizing about the method of body removal which can be explained by his years of studying forensics, and a police sketch which could be coincidental! Like Mike says, people have doppelgängers! Just look at Katy Perry and Zooey Deschanel.”

(Brad feels confident in his argument. Didn’t graduate summa cum laude for nothing bitches.)

“Okay Mr. Law School, What’re the odds that Dave would have a clone running around in this city right when we have a maniac on the loose?” Joe asks. Chester nods before adding,

“And why the fuck would be just _happen_ to know how hot tires burn? I don’t remember that episode of _CSI_! Face it, he’s a homicidal maniac who uses his knowledge of forensics to get away with murder!”

Brad rolls his eyes but starts panicking when Mike and Rob seem to be taking Team Killer’s argument seriously.

“Maybe we should just call the police.” Rob suggest sheepishly. “The best that happens is that he’s innocent and they let him go after a few questions. Worst case scenario is that he is the killer but at least we save the day.”

Brad’s face makes contact with the table. _Hard_. There’s no way he’s hearing this.

Brad’s losing brain cells every second so he chugs his drink and heads home. If he had Dave’s number or address, he’d warn the redhead of their plotting. But he’ll have to settle for telling Dave when he gets to work on his next shift.

Brad makes sure to clock in early so he can try and intercept Team Killer before the do… whatever they plan on doing to Dave. (Brad’s not entirely sure, he probably should’ve stuck around to hear their plan. This is why he’s not a spy.)

The second he opens the door to the diner he’s tackled by Rob and has a belt wrapped around his mouth _again_ and is hogtied and thrown behind the counter in the main dining room.

“Sorry Braddles,” Chester says as he crouches besides Brad, “but we can’t let you get between us and justice. So now if you’ll excuse us, we need to get Dave to confess while Officer Carter listens in!”

(Brad thought he recognized the African-American police officer. He was in casual clothes sitting in a booth, his usual New York Yankees hat still on his head.)

Brad tries to let a scream out, but muffled noises are all that come out. He spots a small steak knife nearby and starts doing a weird worm like movement to slowly make his way over to it. He hears the door open and Mike greets Dave. Brad doubles his efforts in getting free, this stupidity has gone on long enough.

Brad manages to grasp the knife and does his best to cut through the rope while the rest of his coworkers do their best to interrogate Dave.

“So hear any news about that killer?” Rob asks. But instead of his usual voice, it’s like a poor attempt to sound normal. His voice is too loud and is over exaggerated.

“They released a sketch and would you believe it, my mom called me asking if it was me! I told her the killings have been taking place near where I live so maybe someone just saw me shortly before they found a body. Wrong place wrong time I guess!”

(Brad is about halfway done escaping. How has his life gotten so fucked up? The plan was to go to school, get law degree, join law firm, get notoriety, open own law firm, fuck bitches, get paid. This was NOT PART OF THE PLAN.)

“Really?” He hears Chester ask. “That’s quite a coincidence isn’t it?”

“Yeah, poor Lindsey is almost too afraid to leave the apartment so I started a neighborhood watch with some of the people in my apartment building. On my day off it’s my turn to patrol the area. Hey maybe that’s when that witness saw me!”

(Almost… there…)

“Yeah maybe that’s it…” he hears Mike say, but now the manager sound uncertain of his part in the plan. (C’mon Mikey, don’t go to the dark side! Don’t be tempted by the dark side!)

Brad feels the steak knife break through his bindings and he makes quick work undoing them. Unbuckling the belt from around his head, Brad stands tall and points an accusatory finger at Chester, shouting,

“They think you’re the killer Dave!” Chester looks furious.

“You asshole I had him right where I wanted him! He was about to confess!” Dave takes a step back from his coworkers, an amused look on his face.

“I’m sorry, what?” He laughs. “Me? A killer? What the hell brought that thought up?” Everyone (including Office Carter) immediately points their fingers at Chester. Dave doesn’t look shocked. The server lets a huff out.

“Well how’d you know about the tires?” Dave rolls his eyes, he clearly can’t believe he has to explain himself.

“I saw it once in an episode of _MythCrashers_. Or do you think everyone who watched that show is a serial killer too?”

“What about the police sketch?” Joe butts in. Dave lets a groan out.

“I just fucking _told_ you why someone might misidentify me. You guys have no faith in me do you?”

Mike, Rob, and Joe look ashamed that they let Chester convince them to join his witch hunt. They can’t bring themselves to make eye contact with Dave.

Chester, on the other hand, is a stubborn sonovabitch who won’t be so easily swayed.

“JUSTICE WILL PREVAIL!” He shouts before launching himself at Dave. He manages to get both of the redheads hands behind his back and handcuffs them. (Where the _fuck_ is he getting all these handcuffs these better not be the ones he uses for sex.) The other diner employees dog piles the two in an attempt to get Chester off Dave. Limbs are flying everywhere, Rob’s elbow jams itself into Brad’s eye, Mike is shoved face first into Joe’s ass, Brad’s hand finds its way into Chester’s mouth.

It’s not until Officer Carter lets a loud, “SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LOOK AT THE TV Y'ALL!” that they stop fighting. They look like a game of Twister gone horribly wrong but they all manage to look at the tv.

 **‘Breaking News: Phoenix Killer, Jared Leto Arrested After Full Confession’** the news bulletin reads. The mugshot of a young brown haired, blue-eyed man is on half of the screen, while the other half shows live footage of police searching (presumably) his apartment.

_Oh._

“Nah I don’t know about y’all,” Officer Carter says before leaving, “but I think you owe Dave here an apology.”

One by one the diner workers untangle themselves and beg Dave for forgiveness. (Except Brad, who WAS RIGHT ALL ALONG CHESTER.)

Somehow Dave seems to be in good spirits despite everything he’s been through in the last ten minutes. “Granted, it’s ridiculous that you guys thought I was the killer, but at least you had your hearts in the right place.”

(This… is unusually calm for Dave. Something is up, Brad is sure of it.)

Dave struggles with the handcuffs for a few seconds before giving up and asking Chester to unlock them. The father gets wide-eyed before slapping his palm to his forehead.

“Fuck I _knew_ I forgot something!”

Dave rams his head full force into Chester’s stomach, sending the two of them to the ground yet again. For a guy who has his hands cuffed behind his back, Dave is quite capable in a fight. No one bothers to assist Chester, he’s just getting what he deserved. But Brad has a sneaking suspicion that Dave is holding something more sinister back.

Sure enough, the next night, Brad learns how much of a grudge Dave can hold. Somehow he was able to sneak into everyone’s apartments and put hair remover in all their shampoo bottles. Even poor Mike is as bald as a baby and it’s _hilarious_.

But one Chester Bennington got something special from Dave. The man must be a secret ninja or something because he managed to lock large padlocks in both of Chester’s gauges and won’t unlock them for Chester. The older man’s earlobes are comically stretched, forcing Chester to walk around with his hands on his earlobes all night long to prevent and damage.

“It’s an old Farrell family saying,” Dave tells Brad in the break room, “‘Forgive those who wronged you, but remember the bastard’s name.’”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by how my coworkers to this day still think I’m a serial killer. Like I have the time for that. But you tell them how to get rid of a body ONE TIME and you’re branded as a serial killer forever. They’re the ones who asked me how I’d get rid of a body!


End file.
